


Like 'Em Sweet

by bustersmom3223



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Back where it all began, M/M, Remembering happier times, Season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustersmom3223/pseuds/bustersmom3223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It wasn’t easy for Ian Gallagher, growing up in the south side of Chicago. Especially when his mother had split a few years ago, even though this was possibly better than when she was around and alternating between taking her kids on crazy shopping sprees or throwing them wild, inappropriate parties and then lying practically catatonic on the couch depressed for days. Especially when his father was a drunk, a drug addict, and a notorious scam artist who could never be trusted to do anything other than look out for himself. Especially when he was essentially being raised by his older sister, who had dropped out of high school at the age of 16 to take care of her five siblings, and who, despite – or maybe because of – this mantle of responsibility, always seemed to be drawn to danger, chaos, and even, at times, self-sabotage. Of course, when you had known no other life, one that didn’t include the constant struggle to eke by, it was hard to imagine anything different.

Ian did want something different for his life, though. He had a plan, and at 15, things were going pretty well towards fulfilling his plan. Ian’s dream was to get into West Point, to join the Army as an officer, and to become a professional military man. He had already been in junior ROTC for a year, and had passed his physical aptitude tests with flying colors. His grades needed some work, but this was not a major obstacle, he figured; he could always enlist the help of his genius older brother, Lip.

There was just something about military life that appealed to Ian. Hell, in some ways, his life up till now had been perfect preparation for basic training; as the third of six kids, for example, he had practically grown up in an army barracks (he shared a small bedroom with two other brothers, after all). And surely the leftover mac n cheese sandwiches his oldest sister Fiona sometimes packed in their lunches had steeled his stomach for whatever could be dished out in a mess hall.

What the Gallagher household lacked, though, and the military offered, was a comforting discipline and routine that Ian was drawn to. In fact, he enjoyed many aspects of military life: waking up early, working with firearms – he even welcomed the muscle aches he felt after completing an obstacle course or a particularly punishing drill. His military aspirations gave him purpose and provided structure in his life, which could otherwise be quite chaotic.

There was one potential snag in his plan, however, that Ian had just recently discovered – he was gay. Well, he had always known on some level, of course, but it was only fairly recently that he actually had his first (non-solo) gay sexual experience, which sort of solidified the whole thing. Not that he had any qualms about it himself, really – he knew who he was and who he was attracted to, and that’s just how it was. He didn’t judge himself for that.

But he also knew that there were others, such as the thugs in his neighborhood – or the military, with that whole “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” bullshit policy – who would not be so accepting. Not knowing exactly how they would react, Ian had even held off on telling his family, including his brother Lip, who had always been his closest ally. It was a difficult subject to broach; certainly, the Gallaghers weren’t the type for big “coming out” announcements at family dinners.

But they were bound to find out sooner or later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to introduce one of the main characters (Ian).
> 
> Some minor edits made since original publication.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> Most of the events in this chapter take place in Episode 1.

Lip Gallagher sat on the edge of his younger brother Ian’s bed, a folder resting open on his lap, trying to wrap his head around the implications of what he had just discovered.

He had come into their bedroom, the one which he and Ian shared with their brother Carl, frantically looking for a lighter. He was sure that he had seen the one he and Ian had used the night before to share a joint around here somewhere.

After a few minutes of cursory searching and coming up empty, he decided to pull the bed away from the wall, thinking that the lighter might have fallen down next to the mattress. Sure enough, as he moved the bed, exposing the wall behind, he heard something fall to the floor – ah! There it is! He grabbed the lighter triumphantly and was about to push the bed back into place when his eye was caught on something – some papers? No, a folder – that had been wedged in the gap. Reaching in and grabbing the folder, he saw that it had been decorated with numerous pictures of naked women, cut out from dirty magazines, then glued on, collage-style, to the front and back covers. Jackpot, he thought – Ian’s porn stash!

Smiling to himself, Lip lit a cigarette and settled on the edge of the bed, excited to finally see what sort of kink Ian was into. His brother had never been particularly vocal about his sexual preferences, only half-heartedly joining in sometimes when Lip pushed him contribute to otherwise one-sided conversations in which Lip detailed his latest conquests. He figured that Ian was probably intimidated by his older brother’s long list of sexual exploits – Lip, being exceptionally smart and good looking, knew that he had set a difficult precedent to live up to. It didn’t even cross his mind to think that Ian’s reticence might be due to factors other than his brother’s awe of him.

As he sat perched on the edge of the bed, preparing to open the mysterious porn folder, the excitement of potentially finding new images for his spank bank was causing his cock to twitch. Seems like a nice day for a lazy afternoon wank, he thought eagerly.

When he had finally flipped open the front cover so that he could inspect the folder’s contents, what he found had sent him reeling: pictures of large, muscular men in various poses, solo and together, usually fully erect, hands on cocks, mouths on cocks, cocks in asses – and just like that, any trace of his afternoon wood was gone.

Shit – Ian is gay?? How could I not know this? Suddenly it made sense as to why Ian had never fully joined in on his horn-dog conversations.

Lip contemplated how he felt about this revelation. Personally, the thought of many of the acts depicted in the images he had just seen were gross – possibly unnatural – and he didn’t quite know what to make of the idea that his brother, the person who he was closest in the world to, would be turned on by them, much less want to engage in them. It was a bit baffling, quite honestly. But even if he didn’t understand how his brother could find another dude arousing, he loved his brother and would support him regardless – Ian should know that.

The protective older brother in him was suddenly hit with a pang of worry. Lip knew that being gay in the South Side could be dangerous; there were quite a few thugs out there who wouldn’t think twice about sticking a knife in a neighborhood fag, just for the fun of it. How could he help protect his brother, though, if he didn’t know he needed protection like that?

The more he thought about it, actually, the more pissed he became at Ian for not trusting him enough to tell him about this. He considered confronting his brother, but then a better idea occurred to him.

The day before, he had had his first tutoring session with Karen Jackson, a classmate who was also a junior. The visit had gotten off to a bizarre start from the moment he stepped on the porch and rang the doorbell. Karen’s mom, Sheila, had answered, opening the door only as much as was allowed by the chain and pressing her face against the slit, her one visible eye wide and darting wildly as she peered out at him with suspicion. From behind the door, she addressed him with an anxious voice – high-pitched and overly loud in a way that seemed intended to be intimidating, but instead belied an underlying fear – demanding to know what he wanted.

He tentatively explained that he was there to tutor her daughter. After a few moments of awkward contemplation, she appeared to remember, finally, that she herself had been the one to call and ask for his services. Once the realization set in fully, her demeanor made a complete U-turn. Having identified him as friend and not foe, she was suddenly enthusiastically inviting him in – although not before insisting he remove his shoes and place them in the plastic bag she held out for him, smiling a little too sweetly as she blocked the entryway until he had completed this task.

Lip had heard the rumors about Karen’s mother, that she was crazy and wouldn’t leave the house. Judging by the way she warily approached the threshold, making sure not to step a toe beyond the metal strip that marked the boundary between inside and outside the house, it appeared that the rumors might actually be true.

The details he had heard about what had triggered her to become a shut-in were sketchy, but according to some accounts at least, there had been an incident a few years ago where she had been viciously attacked as she headed home from her grocery shopping. The experience had apparently led to a mental breakdown of sorts, and she hadn’t left her house since.

(His intellectual curiosity piqued, Lip had made a mental note to find some academic literature on the psychology of agoraphobia on his next visit to the library.)

As he entered the house in his socked feet, his shoes safely ensconced in plastic and left just outside the door, he was barraged with Sheila’s non-stop chatter – once she got going, it seemed, she could not stop talking. Within the first minute of walking into the Jackson house, Sheila had informed him of the dangers of germs that are carried into homes by the dirt on our shoes, thanked him profusely for coming to help her daughter (who she assured him was smart but just needed a little help to ensure she kept her grades high enough for college), and asked him if he wanted any of the three types of muffins which she had prepared from scratch that morning.

Barely able to get in a word edgewise even had he wanted to, Lip simply smiled and nodded at her non-stop prattle, only speaking in order to politely decline the offer for food.

There was just something a little… off… about the exaggerated facial expressions and wild arm gestures Sheila made when she spoke, but her obvious enthusiasm at having a guest in her self-imposed narrow definition of a world was so quirkily adorable that Lip couldn’t help but take an instant liking to her.

As he surveyed the living room, he noticed a large number of clown figurines scattered throughout the space. He had been somewhat transfixed by one particularly creepy doll that was sitting on the mantle, when Sheila, noticing his interest, volunteered, “Oh, that’s Eddie’s,” referring to Karen’s dad. “He likes clowns.” She shifted her gaze down disapprovingly and adjusted her mouth into a series of bizarre contortions in the silence that followed her statement, causing Lip to wonder if there was more to Eddie’s infatuation with clowns than just collectible figurines. Sheila’s facial tics seemed to indicate, in her own endearingly wacky way, that she merely tolerated Eddie’s fixation, and certainly didn’t share it.

Lip had to suppress a wry smile at the irony of bat-shit crazy Sheila Jackson’s judgmental attitude toward her husband’s admittedly unusual predilections.

Karen had eventually emerged from upstairs, and she and Lip chastely greeted each other with ‘Hi’s and a handshake. Though he had seen her around school a few times, they had somehow never actually met. Observing her up close for the first time, he noticed she was attractive in a way that was, like her mother’s mannerisms, just a little bit… off. Long blonde hair in messy waves, slightly upturned nose, teeth that seemed a tad too big for her mouth – somehow the sum of her parts elevated the individual flaws, and as a package deal, it all worked.

After Sheila reluctantly gave them her leave, he and Karen had finally settled next to each other at the dining room table to begin the session. He started with the trigonometric functions, observing with amusement that Karen was putting on a bit of a show of watching him intently, batting her eyelashes and nodding a little too enthusiastically whenever he looked over and asked if she understood his explanations. Lip had experienced plenty of flirtation during the various tutoring sessions he had given over the years, and so it didn’t faze him – at least, not until Karen shot him a sly smirk and then abruptly began slinking down beneath the table, moving the tablecloth aside so that she could access underneath.

The next thing he knew, she was grabbing at his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping to free his cock, which she then wasted no time in inserting into her mouth. He jumped in his seat at the sudden (but not unwelcome) invasion, looking around and spotting Sheila in the kitchen humming to herself contentedly while she continued her baking. Satisfied that she was too preoccupied to notice what was going down (literally) just a few feet away, he had relaxed and let himself enjoy the unexpected surreptitious under the table BJ.

Now, as he sat on Ian’s bed contemplating his response to his discovery of Ian’s gay porn stash, he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the memory of Karen’s rather excellent fellatio skills – and at the idea which had now occurred to him. He would invite Ian along to his next “tutoring” session with Karen. He figured it wouldn’t be too hard to steer her in the direction of Ian (after all, she seemed pretty eager for cock), and then he would find out just how gay his brother really was.

Maybe Ian had just never tried it with a girl before – how could he be sure he really wasn’t straight unless he had tried sex with a girl? I’m doing him a favor, Lip thought, though he also had to acknowledge that there was also an element of hazing involved, a bit of retaliation for keeping such a big fucking secret from him.

\---

It had taken some convincing to get Ian to come along, but eventually Lip had talked up the wacked-out Jackson family – clinically insane mother, nympho daughter, clown-fetishist father – so much that he finally agreed, just for the entertainment factor.

When they arrived at the house, Lip purposely positioned himself over to the side, out of the line of sight of the slit opening allowed by the door chain, hoping that the sight of a stranger on her porch would induce suspicious Sheila to make an appearance. Sure enough, the sight of the unknown redheaded teenager (Ian) on her doorstep prompted the same wide-eyed wariness from Sheila that Lip had witnessed on his first visit.

When Lip eventually shifted into her line of sight, her demeanor flipped, just as suddenly and completely as the last time. In fact, Lip was amazed that Ian was able to witness an almost exact repeat of the catalogue of Sheila’s insanity that Lip had seen on his last visit, complete with the thrusting of plastic shoe bags in their faces.

As they bent over to untie their shoes, Ian shot his brother an amused grin. As Lip had promised, Sheila’s undeniable quirkiness was on full display, and Ian was so far a satisfied audience. Lip smiled back, though he was more anticipating what would happen when Ian experienced Karen’s different sort of quirk.

Once inside, past the gauntlet of Sheila’s somewhat nonsensical blathering, they were joined by Karen. The three teenagers eventually settled at the table, Karen positioning herself between the brothers. Lip began with introductions, “This is my brother Ian,” they nodded at each other; she seemed intrigued by the newcomer.

Encouraged by her reaction, he continued, “I asked him to come along with me today because I know he’s been under a lot of stress lately, and I thought he could use some of those, uh, relaxation techniques you showed me last time?”

Ian shot him a confused look. Karen, instantly catching the hint, flashed him a mischievous smirk before disappearing under the table. Lip watched with amusement as, before he even had time to register that Karen was no longer sitting next to him, his brother’s eyebrows shot up and he jumped in his chair, his knees hitting the underside of the table with a loud bang. Lip could only giggle as he watched his brother glance around furtively to see if Sheila had noticed (she hadn’t), and then begin to squirm uncomfortably as Karen got to work.

Ian’s obvious discomfort was only compounded a few minutes later when Karen’s father, Eddie, unexpectedly arrived home from work. As he entered, blissfully unaware that his daughter was presently under the table not ten feet away with a dick in her mouth, he greeted the boys warmly. Unable to simply play it cool, Ian’s face read some combination of mortification and panic. Lip did his best to cover for his brother, distracting Eddie with polite, mundane conversation.

It seemed that Eddie’s thoughts were elsewhere – or that he wasn’t particularly observant in general – as he made no indication that he had picked up on Ian’s obvious distress. He soon seemed satisfied that their quota of small talk had been met. Politely excusing himself, Eddie had just turned to leave when suddenly something caught his eye, causing him to do a double take and squint at the floor.

Lip watched nervously as Eddie’s gaze locked in on a spot on the floor just below the hem of the tablecloth. From his angle Lip couldn’t tell exactly what it was that Eddie was fixated on, but he suspected that Eddie must have caught a glimpse of his daughter. It was clear that he had not seen enough to understand what she was doing under the table, as he seemed more curious than anything at this point.

A moment later, though, as Lip continued to watch helplessly, Eddie came closer and lifted up the tablecloth to get a better view. Over the course of the next few seconds – though it felt much longer, as time had seemed to slow down – Eddie’s face registered a series of emotions as he came to understand what he was seeing: first shock, then disgust, then fury.

Soon Eddie’s face was contorted with blind rage; a moment later, he was emitting an animal roar, upending the table and lunging at Ian, whom he assumed had instigated the corruption of his daughter. The brothers fled the Jackson house, forced to run all the way home in just their socked feet in order to avoid Eddie’s wrath.

\---

Well, that hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, thought Lip. He had hoped that Ian would be forced to come clean about his sexuality – assuming that Karen hadn’t actually gotten him off, though Lip would have been ok if she had – but the opportunity to talk about what had happened with Karen was lost in the ensuing hullabaloo with her dad.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time Lip had had to dive-bomb out of a window or give chase on foot to avoid physical harm. These types of situations – which usually came about as a result of being caught stealing, cheating or scamming, any of which might be necessary on any given day in order to get by in the hood – were common enough in his life that he simply thought of them as a sort of poor man’s cardio. He had had even found that he derived a sense of pleasure from such experiences – at least they kept life in the South Side interesting. Besides, he knew he was too quick and too smart to ever get caught.

Ah, well, Lip thought, at least the experiment was not a total loss. He was at least able to gather some valuable intelligence; if Karen, a slut of the first order, was not able to get his brother off, Ian must really be gay. Lip still didn’t understand why Ian hadn’t confided in him, but he decided that he would drop it for now, let Ian come to him when he was ready to share.

At least, that is what he thought until he found out about Kash.

\---

In the aftermath of the fracas at the Jackson house, things had quieted down somewhat, although there was additional fallout, some of it still ongoing.

Having been unsuccessful in his attempt to pummel the boys (especially that red-headed kid whose dick was in his daughter’s mouth when he caught them), Eddie had then turned his wrath on Karen, brutally slut-shaming her with all the Christian born again righteous indignation he could muster. This had inevitably brought out Sheila’s mama bear instincts. She had already grown weary of Eddie’s judgmental, holier-than-thou attitude, but his vicious takedown of their daughter was the last straw, and she demanded that he leave the house. Insisting that it was his idea – a bit of self-serving revisionist history – Eddie had packed up his clowns and driven off in a huff.

Then there was that nasty incident with Eddie and Frank (Lip and Ian’s good-for-nothing father) where Eddie had head-butted Frank, and then Frank had, in a fit of drunken spite, passed along the bloody nose in kind to Ian.

Lip couldn’t help but notice that this was part of a pattern of tension between Frank and Ian. He speculated that the underlying cause – at least from Frank’s side – had something to do with the fact that Ian, of all of the Gallagher kids, was the most like their mother. Frank was still pissed at her for having left him, and he hated being reminded of her every time he looked at the redheaded boy. Lip had long ago come to realize that it just wasn’t in Frank’s nature to be the bigger person – the adult, frankly – who would refrain from taking out his pain on a child – _his_ child, after all. He just hated it that his little brother was the one having to bear the brunt of their father’s narcissism and immaturity.

Another development was that Lip had embarked on a semi-exclusive relationship with Karen – really more like a friends-with-benefits type of situation, since neither of them was particularly interested in being part of a boring, conventional “couple” in the traditional sense. He had to admit, though, he did actually enjoy hanging out with Karen, and not just when they were having sex (although that part was pretty amazing). She was fun, up for anything, and just the right amount of wrong to keep him interested. And boy, was she also a fantastic fuck.

If he was the type of person who fell in love, he could see himself falling for her. Thankfully, he wasn’t, and she wasn’t; their relationship, he noted with some pride, was more evolved, such that they were able to just enjoy each other’s company, without all of that angsty “love” bullshit getting in the way.

\---

A few weeks after the dust-up at the Jackson house, Lip stopped by the store where Ian worked after school so that he could walk home with his brother after his shift ended. Ian still had not come out to Lip, and Lip hadn’t brought it up – a status quo had been established that neither seemed to be anxious to upset. Even though he knew that his brother would probably not find his story as scintillating as he would have once thought, Lip really wanted to tell Ian – who was basically his best friend, besides being his brother – about the amazing mushroom-enhanced orgasm he had just had with Karen.

Ian had gotten this job at their neighborhood convenience store, the Kash & Grab, a few months ago. All Gallagher kids were expected to do their part to add to the family squirrel fund as soon as they hit double-digits; now that Ian was nearly 16, it was almost legal. The store was owned and operated by Iranian-American Kash and his Midwestern-American wife Linda, who, despite wearing the conservative Muslim attire of hijab and loose dress, clearly wore the pants in the family.

It was a perfect first job for Ian; he could work after school and on weekends, and it was within walking distance of their house. Plus, Kash and Linda were very accommodating of Ian’s ROTC practice schedule, as long as he was willing to put in extra hours now and again.

Lip was surprised to find, when he arrived at the store that afternoon, that the front door was locked, with one of those Will Return clock signs – set to five minutes ago, he realized after checking his watch – posted in the window. What the…?

He banged on the door, shouting his brother’s name, and peered in the window, his hands cupped around his eyes to block out the sun, but he was not able to detect any movement or sound from inside. He decided to walk around back; perhaps they were working on loading in inventory and hadn’t heard Lip pounding at the door. As he turned the corner into the alleyway, he saw that the rear garage door was open. He tentatively stepped in, calling out his brother’s name.

The back room appeared to be empty, so he continued through into the store, hesitantly, a little on edge to have not encountered anyone yet even though he had been able to walk right in. Crossing over the threshold from the back room to the front of the store, he turned his head to look down the first aisle, and to his surprise, there they were: his brother, casually re-stocking the refrigerator units, and Kash, calmly sweeping the floor.

“Oh, hey Lip,” Ian looked up as he entered, trying to look nonchalant, though Lip was able to detect an edge of nervousness in his voice, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Lip did not respond right away, as tentacles of suspicion where creeping around inside his head – there was definitely something strange going on here. If they had been right here the whole time, as they seemed to want him to believe, then why hadn’t either of them answered when he called out? And why was the front door locked, while the back was wide open?

He eyed the two of them slowly and deliberately, looking for clues to help him solve the mystery. They both seemed to be trying very hard to appear calm and collected, but it wasn’t too difficult to pick up on the nervous energy that was bubbling just below the surface. Looking carefully at his brother, he observed that his hair and clothes were slightly disheveled and that he appeared to be flushed and sweaty. Shifting his gaze to Kash, he noticed the older man was in a similar state.

Oh my God, Lip thought – could it be…? A shocking supposition was inching into his consciousness, but he forced himself to suppress the thought – he needed more evidence before he could allow himself go there.

As he continued to study the pair, his eyes caught on Kash’s feet – hey, aren’t those Ian’s shoes? Shifting his gaze to his brother, he saw to his chagrin that his brother was wearing unfamiliar shoes (sharing a room with his brother meant that he was aware of pretty much every piece of clothing Ian had); he quickly surmised that this unknown footwear must be Kash’s. The evidence was now leading him to an undeniable conclusion: they had just been fucking.

Now that this conclusion was firmly lodged in his conscious brain, Lip was pissed – how old was Kash? He had to be pushing thirty! And why the fuck has Ian been keeping this from me? What else could he be hiding?

Looking at his brother in disgust, Lip angrily blurted out, “You’re fucking _him_?” Not waiting for an answer, he rushed out of the store in a huff.

\---

As soon as Lip arrived at the Gallagher house, he ran up the stairs, went directly to his room – which thankfully was bereft of brothers – lit up a cigarette, and stewed. He was pissed – royally pissed – at his brother for not telling him major things about his life, about being gay, about fucking his boss, all of it. So instead he’s gotta come into the store one day and put two and two together – and Ian should know, Lip is fucking good at that – to discover that his little brother is fucking this guy like twice his age. Shit, isn’t that illegal, even?? I should call the cops, have that asshole arrested.

A couple of things stopped him from making that call. Firstly, Gallaghers didn’t snitch. It was almost a Gallagher family mantra it was so oft repeated, so ingrained into their brains from a very young age. Even so, if Lip had truly believed this to be a case of abuse, he wouldn’t have hesitated to march down to the police station in person to report it.

But he knew his brother, and so he knew that Ian, like most kids in their neighborhood – hell, like himself – grew up fast. It was not unusual at all to be having sex at that age; in fact, for some it would be considered a bit late – Lip had actually lost his virginity at 12. The technical legal boundaries of when it was acceptable to do things like drink, smoke, have sex – these were all fairly irrelevant where he came from. Most adults that he knew – even the ones not drunk, high, or clinically insane ninety percent of the time – wouldn’t bat an eye at any kid past puberty taking part in any of those things.

What did make him a bit concerned was not so much the age difference between Ian and Kash, but the potential power differential – after all, Kash was Ian’s boss. In his mind, it was somewhat akin to a teacher-student relationship, since at least in some sense, Kash held authority over Ian (although, Lip also knew – like anyone else who had ever witnessed more than thirty seconds of the dynamic between Kash and his wife Linda – that he was basically the opposite of domineering by nature).

At the end of the day, though, Lip didn’t really believe that Ian was a victim – yes, he was being a bit secretive, but Lip was pretty sure that this was more due to his uncertainty as to how Lip would react to his brother being gay than his fear over being discovered in this particular relationship. He decided that – for now – he would trust that his brother could take care of himself.

Having cooled down a bit from his initial shock over his brother’s chosen partner and hurt at being excluded from Ian’s life, Lip realized he needed to have a real heart-to-heart with his brother. He was tired of pretending that he didn’t know, and feeling that there was this secret hovering between them.

Lip looked at his watch – Ian should be home from his shift by now. He obviously hadn’t come to their shared bedroom, since that is where Lip had been the whole time, so he went down the front stairs to look for his brother. The living room and kitchen were empty, so he made his way out the back door, down the rickety wooden steps to the empty lot next to the house. The old VW camper van, which had once been the family transportation until his parents raided the engine for parts that they sold for drug money, was now parked in the adjacent lot permanently, and often served as a hideout from Gallagher family drama.

Approaching the van, Lip peered into the passenger side window. Sure enough, there was Ian, sitting in the driver’s seat, white earbud headphones tracing down from his ears, the music blaring so loudly that Lip could hear it even though the door to the van was closed. As Lip watched his brother for a few moments, he saw the turmoil in Ian’s face as he closed his eyes and subtly headbanged to the music; a mix of hurt, anger and defiance that somehow mostly expressed through pursed, hard lips that absently drew on a cigarette.

Taking a deep breath, Lip grabbed the handle and turned it, swiftly swinging the door open with a loud creak. Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Ian’s head twisted around to watch as Lip entered the van and sat down in the passenger seat next to him. As he reluctantly pulled the earbuds out of his ears, Lip could tell, underneath the surface layer of hurt and anger that was written on his brother’s face, that Ian was afraid, of being rejected, of not being accepted, by his trusted, closest sibling.

But it wasn’t their relationship for Lip to come up and hug Ian and tell him everything was going to be all right. He of course had to begin by ribbing his brother.

“Dude, found your porn stash the other day. Is that why you’ve been working out so much lately? I thought it was for your ROTC training, but now I think you’re just trying to look like the beefcakes in those pictures. At least you don’t have to compensate for a small dick. Nothing worse than a big burly dude with like…” he held up his fist with the pinky extended and slanted his mouth in a wry expression.

Ian remained silent, tightening his lips and steeling his expression in a way that said he was not at all amused by his older brother. Sighing, Lip realized that he was going to need to do a little bit of damage control to get their relationship back to equilibrium.

“Ian, look at me.” Ian reluctantly swiveled his head and locked eyes with Lip. “Name one time I have ever let you down.” Ian rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sound, then fixed his eyes straight ahead, idly bringing his hands together and squeezing his palms and fingers.

“Ian, look at me,” he started again. Ian slowly drew his eyes back to his brother’s. This time Lip spoke softer, but with more intensity, pointing his finger for further emphasis, “Name one time.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, staring at each other, not backing down from the challenge that Lip had put forth. Eventually, Ian’s expression softened and he shrugged, conceding the point and seeming to understand, finally, that Lip was accepting and supporting him, that this hadn’t changed and never would.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, Lip reaching over to take the cigarette from Ian and taking a long drag before giving it back.

“Anyone before Kash?” Lip finally broke the silence.

“Yeah… one.”

“Who?” Ian squirmed slightly in his seat, didn’t answer right away. “Who?” Now Lip was really curious.

“All right, fuck it, I guess it doesn’t matter since he’s long gone anyway. Roger Spikey.”

Lip looked at his brother with wide eyes, “Roger ‘Donkey Dick’ Spikey?” Ian nodded. “So the rumor about him, about how he got his nickname…?”

“Not a rumor,” Ian confirmed with a smirk. Lip smiled back, nodding in appreciation.

Having regained the confidence of his brother, Lip decided to take the opportunity to ask about something he had never understood about gay sex. Partially out of simple curiosity, partly out of genuine concern for his younger brother’s well-being, Lip couldn’t help but ask, in typically frank Gallagher style, “Seriously, up the ass?? Can someone get used to that? I mean, biologically speaking, the whole point of the digestive system is one-way traffic. It just is.”

As he took that in, Ian began to laugh, softly at first but growing in intensity until he finally was laughing so hard, he could barely get out his response, “Just is. Yeah, like our lungs were only made for smoking, right?”

Taking his brother’s point – our bodies are often used for pleasurable experiences outside of their strict biological function – Lip joined Ian in hearty laughter. They stayed outside in the van like that for a while longer, sharing another cigarette and shooting the shit jovially. They finally headed back inside only when they heard Fiona calling out from the back door that dinner was ready.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the general events of this chapter follow the show, quite a few details, including timeline, some dialogue, and certain other details, have been modified. 
> 
> Each chapter will be from a different character's perspective; for the next chapter we go back to Ian's POV.
> 
> *Minor edits made after original publication


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> This chapter: Introducing the Gallaghers, and When Ian Met Mandy.

As he and Lip made their way up the back outside staircase and into the house for dinner, Ian realized what a relief it was, finally, to be out to someone in his family – even better that it was to his closest sibling, who also happened to be his roommate and best friend. He actually felt lucky, for once in his life, to be a Gallagher, to be the younger brother of Lip, who – despite the brotherly hazing he frequently administered – truly did accept and support him unconditionally. He also knew that Lip could be trusted to keep the knowledge of Ian’s sexuality to himself until he was ready to share. Over the years, Ian and his brother had shared a number of secrets – mostly small stuff, but also a few doozies – and not once had Lip ever betrayed his confidence. Lip was good like that.

Amazingly, Lip wasn’t too judgmental about his relationship with Kash, either, which was something he was extremely grateful for. Ian was aware, obviously, that the age difference technically meant that sex between them was illegal, and that Kash was firmly in the closet with a wife and kids. Even so, Ian considered Kash to be his first real boyfriend. Their relationship was not just about fucking, although their frequent hook-ups in the back room of the store were definitely part of it.

But beyond sex, Kash demonstrated his genuine affection for Ian often, in a number of ways: stealing kisses in the store when no one was looking, listening intently when Ian went on and on with his teenage bullshit, buying Ian random gifts like shoes and a jacket. And Ian reciprocated, in his own ways: directing secret, flirty looks at Kash even when lingering customers (or his wife) prevented more open forms of endearment, probing Kash for details about his family and childhood and what it was like growing up middle class in the suburbs of Chicago, bringing Kash bootleg CDs of his latest musical finds.

Of course, on some level, Ian knew that being with someone nearly twice his age who was also technically his boss was a pretty inappropriate choice for a boyfriend. At the end of the day, though, Ian was just a teenager enjoying the how it felt to be in a relationship for the first time. He even sometimes thought he might be in love. What he and Kash had was – despite its inherent illicitness – a fairly sedate, if not wholly conventional, romance.

The thing is, Kash was different from anyone else Ian knew in his neighborhood – and not just because of his exotic heritage. He just didn’t have the hardened outlook – part jaded, part cynical – that developed from growing up in a place like the South Side. In its place, he possessed a kind of day-dreamy naivety that Ian found refreshing… for the most part, at least.

Ian had to admit, he did find it sometimes strange and a bit frustrating that despite the fact that Kash was so much older than him, it often felt like he was the one leading Kash along in advancing their relationship, especially physically. And there were moments when Kash’s gentle nature manifested as an infuriating meekness. Case in point: the dynamic between Kash and his wife Linda, wherein he typically allowed her to take the reigns and call the shots – with the store, with their two boys, with most decisions large and small. Frankly, it drove Ian up a wall, but he didn’t really feel it was his place to say anything. After all, he was really just an interloper in their relationship.

Despite these minor annoyances, Ian had a genuine fondness for Kash that he had never felt for anyone before. It was definitely a new experience, one that was quite intoxicating, to be able to both give and receive romantic affection to another person. Of course, having an outlet for sex on the regular – also a new experience – wasn’t bad, either.

\---

As he joined the rest of his family already gathered to partake in dinner, Ian surveyed the faces of his brothers and sisters sitting in their usual positions around the kitchen table. Serving himself a heaping spoonful of tonight’s main course – some sort of casserole Fiona had put together using a combination of contraband bulk ingredients from her short stint as a restaurant hostess this summer and cheap off-brand goods from their bargain-basement grocer – Ian contemplated his strange, crazy, often fucked-up family, and the collection of unique individuals that it was comprised of.

There was Lip, of course, sitting next to him; though he was the closest to Ian in age, he was miles away in intelligence. Seriously, Lip was a straight-up genius, certified through testing and everything. Ian really should have known that there was no way he could keep his secret from his older brother for long.

Lip (legal name: Philip) was the only person that Ian knew for whom school came so easy it was almost a joke. He barely studied and still managed to pull out a near-perfect GPA. Well, barely studied if you counted what he was assigned in school. A brain like Lip’s needed stimulation beyond that provided by their shitty public high school, and so he spent a good amount of time at the library, following his own intellectual curiosity wherever it led him. Lately, Lip had developed an interest in robotics, though he was finding it to be an expensive hobby to (legally) sustain.

Lip also utilized some of his excess brainpower to contribute to the family squirrel fund, primarily by performing various academic services for pay. The services he typically had on offer ran the gamut from completely above-board (tutoring) to ethically questionable (selling custom-written school reports and essays) to borderline illegal (taking the SAT for other students). If they were willing to pay, Lip was usually game to take the risk. Honestly, Ian suspected that his brother enjoyed the riskier jobs the most – he knew that Lip took immense pleasure in getting away with fooling adults, the establishment: The Man.

Not only was Lip ridiculously smart, he was also quite the ladies’ man. Frankly, one of the reasons Ian hadn’t told Lip about his sexuality before was that Lip was generally pretty aggressively hetero, always going on and on in great detail about chicks he banged. Ian had even walked in on him in the act with girls a couple of times. Lip’s primary reaction each time was pride of conquest, without a shred of embarrassment. Certainly, Ian had assumed that Lip would judge him negatively because their tastes were obviously quite different. Based on Lip’s rather ham-handed questions about the mechanics of gay sex, it was clear that he didn’t really quite understand his brother’s attraction to cock – but then, Ian reasoned, he didn’t quite understand Lip’s attraction to vagina, so it came out even in the end he supposed.

Lip had a tendency to assume that he was the smartest and most attractive person in the room (and let’s face it, he usually was); as a result, he often came off as a bit of a smartass, which turned some people off. Adults at school, in particular – teachers, guidance counselors, school principals – would often come away from an interaction with Lip believing that he took his life and future flippantly. This impression was reinforced by his continual scoffing at the notion that it was his destiny to be the one person in his family to make it to college – he really hated being thought of as the special one, the one who would “escape” the hood. But Ian knew that there was no one more loyal and deeply feeling than Lip Gallagher, so he should have known that Lip, as always, would have his back unconditionally.

Next to Lip was Fiona, his oldest sister. As was usual during family mealtimes, Fiona was in and out of her seat, making tracks back and forth between the table and the kitchen, ensuring that her family had a decent (or at least calorically satisfying) dinner. It was a duty she took upon herself, since she and the rest of the family had tacitly decided long ago that she was the de facto matriarch of the Gallagher household.

It was a role thrust upon her by circumstance. At some point, it had become painfully clear that she and her brothers and sisters were never going to have parents who could (or were willing to) actually parent. So, in her sophomore year, she had dropped out of high school to take care of her younger siblings. Their mother and father, wrapped up in their own drama, had quickly and eagerly abdicated all parental responsibility to her.

By the time Liam, the youngest Gallagher, had come along two years ago, it was just assumed that Fiona would be the one to raise him. No one in the family had seen or heard from their mother since the day she split just after giving birth to Liam. She had essentially dropped the baby, still in hospital-issue swaddling clothes, off on their doorstep, and left. It was a dismaying, but not surprising, turn of events, but Fiona had stoically accepted the burden without comment or complaint.

Even though it was an immense responsibility to have at such a young age, Ian sensed that Fiona found purpose in taking care of her siblings. And as he himself knew all too well, purpose was not a small thing in their neighborhood to have.

As a 20-year-old high school dropout not having much in the way of marketable skills, along with the burden of raising a toddler with no means for day care, it wasn’t always easy for Fiona to find a suitable job (or jobs) that would keep the Gallaghers fed and with a roof over their heads – preferably a roof that also had heat and running water. Fiona was willing to do just about any job that could provide for her family, no matter how disgusting or backbreaking – though she drew the line at doing anything sexual for money.

For the past few months, she had been barely managing to make ends meet by stringing together the meager wages she was able to collect from cleaning hotel rooms (which she could do while watching Liam) and taking the odd waitressing shift at the club (when the other kids were not in school and thus available to babysit). Adding in the supplemental incomes of Lip and Ian ensured that at least the family wouldn’t have to skip meals or freeze in their own beds during winter.

With her wavy dark brown hair and stunning beauty even without a stitch of makeup, Fiona had always been a dude magnet, though she struggled to find anyone who she could see herself settling down with long term. Certainly, it was difficult to find a suitable guy who was willing to put up with a woman raising five kids that were actually her siblings. Not that she would actually be attracted to a guy who was suitable – Fiona had a penchant for bad boys, and often found herself caught up in the drama, danger and excitement that came along with them. Ian supposed her lost adolescence had to come out somewhere. But if she had any resentment for being forced to forego her teenage rebellious phase and raise five kids instead, she rarely showed it.

To her siblings, Fiona was loving and loyal to the core, and raised them according to the Gallagher code, whereby underage smoking (cigarettes and weed), drinking, and sex were ok, minor theft and moderate bullying were tolerated, and murder, hard drugs, and snitching were strictly forbidden. Ultimately, Ian knew that without Fiona they would all be lost.

Next in line, after Fiona, Lip and himself, was Debbie, who at that moment was quietly, pensively eating her dinner, lost in her own thoughts. Ian had no idea what was running through her mind, but he knew that Debbie – or Debs, as they liked to call her – was often preoccupied with thoughts far more mature than those typically on the mind of the tween set. At 12 years old, Debbie was quite precocious, and Ian was always impressed by her big heart, which she had so far retained despite neglectful parents and neglected surroundings.

Some cracks in her innocent façade were beginning to show, though, as Debbie was also demonstrating a few behaviors that some psychologists would probably say were triggered by parental abandonment. Like when she abducted a neighborhood boy from in front of his house and dressed him up as living baby girl doll while no one was looking.

Or like the time she latched on to “Aunt Ginger” (really, an elderly woman from the nearby nursing home brought in to play the part so that their father could continue to collect her Social Security checks – the real Aunt Ginger was long dead and buried in the back yard). For the two days the old woman lived at the Gallagher house, Debbie happily spent every waking moment with the sweet, addled old lady, who believed Debbie was her granddaughter. When it was finally time to take her back, Debbie pled emotionally with Fiona to keep her. It was a reaction similar to the one most other kids her age might have after finding a stray dog. Debbie really didn’t have a lot of friends her own age, and in point of fact, had been abandoned by her real mother (as hard as she tried, Fiona would never be able to completely neutralize that wound). It shouldn’t have been surprising, then, that she would attach herself so quickly and firmly to a kindly motherly figure.

Debbie – who, like Ian, had red hair and a face full of freckles – had a seriousness and depth about her that was extremely endearing in someone so young, but the truth was that she had been exposed to a lot of adult situations already in her short life to date. As much as her older siblings tried to protect her, she was, like Fiona, Lip and Ian before her, being forced to grow up fast. Ian just hoped that Debbie would be able to retain her innocence as long as possible.

Less than a year younger than Debbie was Carl, who, without warning, as Ian watched, landed a swift kick to Debbie’s shin, abruptly pulling her out of her reverie. In response, she cried out in pain, yelled at him to STOP, and punched him in the arm – all in quick succession. It was hard to linger in pensive moments when Carl, Ian’s younger brother and other roommate, was around.

Carl’s primary interests were destruction, violence and mayhem. He collected weapons – guns, knives, Tasers, nun-chucks, whatever he could get his hands on – and frequently had to be reminded by his family not to use them on anything living. At school, he spent more time practicing his bullying than studying; he was most likely going to be held back at the end of this year. For the most part, young Carl’s dark interests were harmless – almost adorable, even – and were often dismissed with a trite “boys will be boys” sentiment. At some point though, Ian knew, the cuteness was bound to wear off. It was probably inevitable that his brother would one day wind up in juvie or prison; really, it was more a question of when.

Rounding out the gang was Liam, the baby of the family, who was sitting quietly in his high chair situated at the head of the table. Ian assumed that Liam was actually his half brother, the result of one of their mother’s affairs – he was, after all, black.

It was too soon to tell what type of person Liam would turn out to be – he wasn’t even speaking yet – but Ian and Lip sometimes spent whole afternoons trading scenarios of what the future might hold for their youngest brother. One of their favorite fantasies was to imagine him as the next black Chicago-born president. It was fun to speculate, and who knew? Stranger things had happened, right?

Realistically, though, it was probably more likely that he would wind up solidly blue-collar: bartending, say, or working in construction. Or, he might be just as likely to follow in the footsteps of dear old dad Frank and become a fucking degenerate.

Frank. Ian couldn’t help but sigh at the thought of his deadbeat father. As he dished out a second serving of mystery casserole onto his plate, Ian paused and turned his head to peer into the living room; sure enough, there was Frank, passed out on the floor. Ugh – if he inhaled deeply, he could catch a whiff of the foul odor emanating from Frank’s filthy clothes and unwashed body. Frank wasn’t technically homeless – he did have a bed upstairs – but he rarely used it; instead, he usually wound up passing out wherever he ended up after ingesting enough mind-altering substances (typically, some combination of liquor and drugs) to kill a man three times his size.

Sometimes, like tonight, he might be found unconscious on a park bench or in a ditch; most cops from the neighborhood who were familiar with Frank’s antics would simply bring him home to sleep it off. His children usually considered it too much trouble to drag their father upstairs, and, after having to clean off the layer of vomit, piss and shit left behind the one time they had gone to the trouble to lift him up onto the couch, they typically just left him on the floor – though Debs had thoughtfully inserted a pillow under his head.

Other times, Frank would disappear for weeks or even months at a time. He would always eventually turn up, usually with a crazy story to tell. It was a wonder he was still alive, especially considering how many times he had passed out exposed to the brutal Chicago winter. But Frank, as most of his family and the neighborhood by this time knew, was like a cockroach – often found in dark, dank places, impossible to get rid of, and frequently inducing symptoms of revulsion.

Frank had never worked an honest day in his life – something he was in fact quite proud of. Instead, he lived off a series of scams: receiving years worth of workers comp for a fake injury that would have been long healed anyway, pocketing the social security checks of dead relatives, purposely getting hit by cars or breaking limbs on front steps in order to collect insurance payouts. And those were just the long cons. Any money that made its way to Frank’s pocket was soon spent on booze, drugs and the occasional hooker.

Frank was always a poor excuse for a father, though Ian did have to admit, he was occasionally the source of a good laugh.

Sitting back in his chair and taking stock, Ian realized that he and his siblings were survivors, and that growing up together in this house, in this neighborhood, had bonded them to each other inextricably. It often felt like it was the Gallaghers against the world – but at least they had each other’s backs. His family may be fucked up, but they were always there for each other no matter what.

Amid the cacophony of quasi-adult conversation between Lip and Fiona, the childish shrieks of Debbie and Carl as they pinched or playfully kicked each other under the table, and the clatter of multiple sets of utensils clanking against plates and bowls, a warm feeling of affection for his family washed over him. They could certainly each be pains in the asses in their own unique ways, and it was a bit overwhelming sometimes, the amount of chaos such a large, unruly family generated, but at the end of the day, he was grateful to have each of them in his life.

\---

The next day at school, Ian was sitting in his English class trying to concentrate on the pop quiz in front of him, but he was distracted by thoughts of Kash, who he would be seeing at the store later. He and Kash would have at least four hours together, and since it was Thursday – typically a slow night – they should have plenty of opportunity to sneak off to the back room. He smiled to himself as he indulged in thoughts of the afternoon’s anticipated activities. Soon, he felt the blood start to flow to his crotch and his pants began to tighten. Shit – I really need to hold off on thinking about this till later, he thought. He forced himself to focus in on the questions on Romeo and Juliet in front of him. He was glad the quiz was multiple-choice, allowing him to guess even though he hadn’t bothered to read the play. Anyway, he knew the gist – star-crossed lovers, all that shit.

Two questions in, he was already bored. He looked up from his paper and surveyed the room. It was generally quiet – or at least as quiet as a room full of 30 teenagers could be, without the aid of massive doses of Valium. Most of the students were hunched over their papers, appearing to be diligently working on the quiz (though a few looked like they were primarily using the quiz paper for a doodling canvas). Others were surreptitiously peeking at their phones. Two girls in one corner were whispering and giggling with each other.

As he continued his scan of the room, he caught the eye of a classmate who was also looking across the room instead of at his paper – their eyes met, briefly, and were averted immediately upon contact, as though spooked at being caught wandering. Ian realized, as soon as his brain caught up, that – hello – the guy was cute, but by the time he looked back, the dude was already bent over his desk again and the moment had passed. Probably straight anyway, Ian sighed to himself ruefully.

Ian was just about to resign himself to re-focusing on the quiz when something caught his eye to his left. The student across the aisle from him – a pale girl with thick black eyeliner, black nail polish, and long black hair streaked with red – was squirming in her seat as their teacher, Mr. Walters, middle-aged with glasses and a receding hairline, hovered over her and rested his hand on her shoulder. He was speaking to her in a low voice – even from less than ten feet away, Ian could not make out what he was saying – and was practically drooling as he ogled her chest.

Anger boiled up in him – what the fuck? Sure, this girl was dressed pretty slutty, but that didn’t give this skeezeball the right to manhandle her in the middle of English class. As he continued to watch, he saw Mr. Walters lean in so that his face was only a couple of inches from her and whisper something in her ear conspiratorially – Ian almost had to suppress a laugh when she recoiled from his obviously noxious breath. As he bent over, the teacher tightened his grip on her shoulder possessively.

When Mr. Walters finally stood up, he saw the girl react with a frown, turning her head and closing her eyes in disgust. Shifting his gaze to their teacher, he realized that the man had an obvious boner pitching a tent within his tan corduroy slacks. Ugh – gross! In other contexts, seeing another dude’s erect penis struggling to break free from his clothes would be pretty hot. But after watching this perv make the moves on an underage girl – a student in his class, nonetheless – Ian was completely turned off and disgusted.

Mr. Walters finally began to move away from the object of his inappropriate affection, exiting the aisle to her left and then beginning to make his way up the next aisle over, which would take him right past Ian. Thinking fast, just as the teacher was next to him – the dirty old man was still eyeing the black-haired girl and wasn’t looking where he was walking – Ian stuck out his foot. Mr. Walters tripped and fell, spectacularly, face-first, into the aisle. A gasp rose up in the classroom, and students who were far from the action rose from their seats and strained their necks to try and get a better view of their teacher suddenly prostrate on the ground.

Mr. Walters lay there immobile for a few seconds, and Ian thought for a moment that he might have actually killed his teacher. Finally, after a long breathless wait (for Ian), Mr. Walters let out a groan; soon, he was moving again, pushing himself up off the floor. He eventually managed to get himself onto his feet, though initially his stance was somewhat wobbly. He had fallen perhaps two-thirds of the way down the aisle, and so when he stood up, facing the front of the classroom, his back was to the majority of the class, including Ian.

Mr. Walters’ thin wisps of hair, which had been combed in such a way to appear more plentiful, had shifted out of place during the fall and were now sticking out at crazy angles from his head. His glasses had also been knocked crooked. He looked downright comical, even from behind, and before long more than half the class was giggling, sniggering, or in a few cases straight-out laughing out loud. (A handful were also silently observing him with concern, though none moved to try and aid him in any way.) Ian smiled to himself, proud that he had been able to embarrass his pervy teacher so thoroughly.

Eventually, the realization of what was happening seemed to hit Mr. Walters. He steadied himself on his feet, adjusted his glasses on his face, and slowly began walking toward the front of the room. With his back still to the majority of the class, he cleared his throat and spoke in an overly loud voice, attempting to re-assert himself as the authority in the chaotic classroom, “Quiz time is up. Please turn your papers in to the front of the class.”

No one moved to follow his instruction, though the laughter did die down somewhat. Having reached the front of the room by then, he positioned himself behind the desk and finally turned around to face his students – the entire class stared back at him, riveted by the embarrassing display. Some fresh giggles were heard as the students got a better view of his disheveled state: even though he had adjusted his glasses, they were still just slightly crooked, and, having somehow completely escaped his attention when he had attempted to compose himself before confronting the class, his electric-shock hairstyle remained entirely untamed.

“Please turn your papers in! Time’s up!” Mr. Walters practically shouted this time, obviously frustrated to have lost such control of his class.

At that moment, the bell rang. The noise seemed to wake the class up out of their stupor, and suddenly there was a rush to the front of the room, the students clamoring to turn in their quiz papers. It appeared also that a few rubberneckers were hoping to get a better look at the state of their English teacher.

Ian hung back, taking the opportunity to “complete” his quiz by circling random letters for his answers, not even bothering to read the questions. When he finally rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the room, the crowed had thinned. As he placed his paper on the desk, Ian looked up and met his teacher’s eyes. At first, Mr. Walters returned his gaze angrily – he knew Ian had been the one to trip him up. But as Ian continued to stare him down, glaring at him with disgust, it seemed to dawn on him, slowly, why Ian had tripped him up and what he must have seen. His defiance soon wilted away. He finally conceded the stare down and averted his eyes in shame. Ian exited the classroom triumphantly, satisfied that he had made his point.

He hadn’t gotten that far into the hallway before he heard someone calling out to him.

“Hey!” It was the black-haired girl from class that Mr. Walters had violated, trying to get his attention. Ian stopped and turned around to face her as she approached him. Once she got close enough to carry on a conversation, she paused before speaking, looking him over, sizing him up. Ian did the same – now that he could see her fully, he could see that she was, underneath the slutty gothic get-up, actually quite attractive. Something about her – maybe it was her unique sense of style – made him take an instant liking to her.

“Hey, so… did you do that for me?” She looked up at him expectantly.

Ian simply shrugged in response, his mouth turning up into a smile.

“Thanks,” she smiled back at him appreciatively. Offering him her hand, “I’m Mandy,” she said in greeting.

Ian’s eyes widened a bit as he paused slightly before taking her hand to shake it. “Mandy… Mandy Milkovich?”

“Yep. So I guess you’ve heard of me,” she looked at him wryly.

Of course he had heard of her – she was famous in the neighborhood. Mandy Milkovich was known for two things: one, for being one of the biggest sluts in the school, and two, for being a member of the notorious Milkovich clan.

The Milkoviches were a large family of Eastern European descent that lived only a few blocks from the Gallaghers. He had seen several of the Milkoviches around the neighborhood – he knew that Mandy had a number of older brothers – but for some reason – even though she was apparently in his grade – he had never actually met the youngest and only female Milkovich sibling. The Milkovich family was known for their liberal use of violence, their racist and homophobic attitudes, and their general thuggish ways – they were well-known menaces in the South Side. Ultimately, the infamous Milkovich reputation began with and stemmed from the patriarch of the family, Terry Milkovich, who was raising his boys to follow his example – he was, after all, the most violent, most bigoted and most menacing thug of them all.

To Mandy, in front of him, he shrugged. “I’ve heard of your family…we’re neighbors,” he finally managed to say.

She continued to eye him expectantly. “And you are…?” She finally hinted.

“Oh! I’m Ian. Ian Gallagher,” he spoke quickly.

“Ian Gallagher, huh? So you’re Frank Gallagher’s son?”

Ian suppressed a groan – everyone in the neighborhood knew Frank. It seemed both of their fathers’ reputations had preceded them. “Yeah,” he reluctantly admitted.

Now that the introductions were complete, she leaned in closer to him and spoke in a low voice, “So, do you want to meet up later? I’d like to properly thank you for standing up for me today in class.”

Ian swallowed. Shit. Obviously, Mandy had gotten the wrong idea. He suddenly remembered, thankfully, that he actually had a legit excuse for not accepting her offer.

“Shit, sorry Mandy. I’m working today after school. Maybe some other time?” He began slowly walking backwards down the hall, hoping this was sufficient for him to escape without offending her.

“Oh.” She looked genuinely disappointed. Suddenly, her downcast face perked up, and she quickly blurted out, before he had managed to get out of earshot, “Where do you work?”

“Um…” Shit. No way out of this one. “At the Kash & Grab, on 43rd?” The bell rang. “Hey Mandy, I’m sorry – I gotta get to class.” He hustled away as she remained behind, watching him run off down the hall.

He knew that this wasn’t the last he would be seeing of Mandy Milkovich. Even so, within a few minutes of their parting, his mind had drifted back to Kash, and his plans for when they would meet later. By the time the final bell rang and he was on his way to the Kash & Grab, Mandy had completely vanished from his thoughts.

\---

Later that day, at the store, Ian was feeling pretty good, high on the endorphins released from sex. As he emerged from the back room, tying his store apron at his back, he turned his head and met eyes with Kash, who was trailing just behind him. They shared a conspiratorial smile, both flush from the vigorous activity they had just participated in together, before parting to return to their separate jobs. Kash moved to the front of the store to unlock the door, then made his way behind the counter to man the cash register. Ian walked down the back aisle to resume his re-stocking.

He quickly settled into the routine of moving inventory from boxes in the back room onto the shelves, and the manual labor allowed Ian lots of time to dwell, blissfully, on the memories of his and Kash’s just-completed back room quickie. If he could have whistled while he worked, he would have, but since he had neither the skill nor the temperament for that, he instead hummed a popular EDM song quietly to himself, bobbing his head to the music as he placed the various inventory items onto the shelves.

Ian was up on the ladder stocking extra diapers on the top shelf when he felt a sudden pinch on his butt. Yes! About time, he thought. Ian’s teenage sex drive meant that he had been ready to go again practically since he had emerged from the back room after their first go-round. He smiled to himself and began excitedly descending the ladder, not bothering to look behind him to confirm the identity of the pincher – of course it had to be Kash.

“Coming back for more already, huh?” Ian’s enthusiasm was evident in his voice.

He reached the bottom of the ladder and jumped off the last rung – only then did he turn around to face his accoster. He nearly fell down with surprise to find himself practically nose to nose with Mandy Milkovich. Shit – he had forgotten all about her. He knew she wouldn’t let him get off so easy. No good deed goes unpunished, Ian thought ruefully.

She smiled at him hungrily, “Hi Ian,” she purred, her face nearly touching his. “Of course I’m back – I still need to thank you for helping me with Mr. Walters today.” As she spoke, her hands were traveling along his body, making their way under his apron. When she reached between his legs – his cock still semi-hard from his initial excitement of thinking it was Kash – she stopped and smiled, assuming of course that his dick was hard for her. She practically squealed with delight, and before Ian could even react, she moved to her knees, eagerly pushing his apron aside and pawing at the waistband of his jeans.

Fuck! This crazy bitch was about to give him a blowjob in the middle of the store! At least he and Kash were discreet enough to go into the back room – even if they did sometimes forget to check the back door in their lusty haste. She had actually gotten his jeans unbuttoned before Ian finally snapped out of his shock-induced paralysis.

He took a quick step back and put his hands on her shoulders. His voice quiet but forceful, he half demanded, half pleaded, “Mandy – stop!” She paused, her face reading a mixture of puzzlement, embarrassment and hurt. Ian tried to mollify her before anger could set in. “Not here.”

Ian was hit with a sudden pang of empathy for the dark-haired girl in front of him – she seemed so desperate, on her knees in the back of a dirty convenience store. He knew she was just trying to show her appreciation, in her way. She just didn’t realize she was barking up the wrong tree with him.

He held out his hand to her, an olive branch he hoped. “Sorry, Mandy, it’s just – I’m at work, and my boss… he’s really strict… I-I just don’t want to get fired…” He trailed off, hoping he appeared sheepish enough to soothe her bruised ego.

Mandy stared at his outstretched hand for quite some time before moving. Finally, after what to Ian felt like an eternity, she reached up and took his hand, allowing him to help her rise to a standing position.

Just as Ian was pulling Mandy up, another Kash & Grab customer – a middle-aged black man – rounded the corner into the aisle. He stopped short when he saw them and looked at the two teenagers curiously. They stared back, unsure exactly what he must have seen or how they must look to him. He finally shrugged, shook his head (“crazy white folks,” Ian imagined the man thinking to himself), moved to the refrigerator unit closest to them, opened the door and grabbed a six-pack of beer, then quickly scurried away.

Alone again, Ian and Mandy stood facing each other awkwardly. Ian searched for the words to break the tension. “Hey Mandy – you don’t need to do that, you know. I didn’t do it for that.”

She studied him, obviously confused by this concept. Probably no one outside of her family had ever done something for her without expecting something in return. “Okay…” she finally said. “Why _did_ you do it?”

Ian shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just – he was taking advantage of you. And it wasn’t right.”

Mandy eyed him suspiciously, searching his face for signs of insincerity. Finally, seemingly satisfied that he was telling her the truth, she softened and smiled at him demurely. “Well… thanks. Really.”

Relieved that he had managed to placate her, he wanted her to leave now, before he inadvertently said something which might piss her off. “So… I really need to get back to work…”

“Ahh. Okay.” Mandy began backing away, slowly at first. After a few backwards steps, she turned around and started walking off, gaining speed as she went.

“See you around, Mandy,” Ian called out to her just before she rounded the corner to exit the aisle. She paused, turned around briefly and put her hand up in combination acknowledgement and wave goodbye. Then, she was gone.

Ian exhaled a sigh of relief, then got back to work. He no longer felt like humming.

\---

His shift over, Ian was ready to head home. Sometimes, he lingered at the store after hours, helping Kash wrap up the last bit of re-stocking after close, savoring the precious little alone time he was able to have with his boyfriend (staying late after closing could be problematic, though, since Linda often called and spoiled the mood – and if Kash ignored her call, she was liable to show up unannounced). Despite his earlier lustful eagerness, his mood had shifted, and now he just wanted to go home. Something about Mandy, the way she had shown up, her desperate attempts to “thank” him with sexual favors, her face when Ian had forced her to stop – he knew the situation with her had not been resolved, and it made him uneasy.

Having said his goodbyes to Kash, Ian headed out the back door, glad to have at least the walk home to himself. He knew once he got home that he would be bombarded with Gallagher energy – which was sometimes a good distraction – but for the next few minutes, at least, he craved solitude and silence.

He had only taken a few steps out the door when he heard his name being called out. Of course he recognized the feminine voice right away. Fuck me, he thought. Why was she still here? He stopped cold and turned around to face Mandy, who was sitting on the stoop – thankfully, he had already managed to put a few feet between them. He made no attempt to move closer.

“Hey, Mandy,” he weakly responded. “What are you still doing here?”

She held up a hand, a cigarette lodged between her fingers. “Jeez, can’t a girl stop for a smoke?” She placed the cigarette between her lips and inhaled, the lit end glowing bright orange in the dark. “You done workin’ for tonight?”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah, but Mandy, I just really want to get home, ok?”

She held up both of her hands, palms facing him – a gesture of concession. “Not tryin’ to stop you,” she said, defensively.

Despite being given the release to leave, Ian remained standing where he was. He studied Mandy as she continued to smoke her cigarette. She wasn’t looking at him; instead, she stared at the ground and absently pushed gravel around with her foot. He felt a pang of… what? Compassion? Concern? Some inexplicable budding of fondness for this confusing mixture of innocent molestation victim and aggressive sexual bully in front of him?

He sighed. Despite his better judgment, he found himself asking, “Don’t you wanna go home, Mandy?”

She finally looked up at him. Suddenly, she was a little girl. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

She looked back down at the ground and shrugged. “Too many brothers, and my dad… it’s exhausting, having to like, take care of all of them.”

Ian gazed down at her sympathetically. He certainly knew what it was like, having to live with the mayhem wrought by a large number of siblings. Of course, it was more than that for her, living in that house, a girl surrounded by brutes.

“Yeah, my family’s pretty fucked up, too.” It probably wasn’t exactly the right thing to say, but it was all he could think of.

She let out a sardonic snort. “Yeah, well, of course your family’s fucked up. Your dad is fucking Frank Gallagher.”

They locked eyes and held them for several seconds, before simultaneously cracking up in laughter.

Finally feeling more at ease, Ian relented to move from where he was standing, several feet away from Mandy, to sit next to her on the stoop. He reached over and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette from between her fingers, took a drag, then handed it back to her. They sat in a comfortable silence like that for several moments, passing the cigarette back and forth between them.

Finally, Mandy broke the silence. “Did you see Mr. Walters’ face today, after he fell?” She was smiling broadly. “He was like, totally embarrassed. It was fucking amazing!”

Ian chuckled at the fond memory. “Yeah, and did you see his hair? He thinks he’s fooling people with that stupid comb-over, but it’s so obvious that he’s like, practically bald.”

They laughed heartily. “You think he figured out it was you?” She asked through her giggles.

“Oh yeah,” Ian stated proudly. “And he knew why, too. I gave him the stare-down after class. I was like, ‘I know what you did, motherfucker!’ and he couldn’t even– ”

He was cut off by Mandy’s lips suddenly on his as she lunged at him, pushing him backwards onto the landing. He was so shocked he didn’t react at first, but before the realization of what was happening had fully hit his conscious brain, his body responded. Without thinking, he grabbed her by the upper arms and shoved her away from him, a little more violently than strictly necessary to get her off of him.

Thankfully, she was able to land on her feet, but he immediately realized that even if he hadn’t harmed her physically, he had badly bruised her ego. As she got her bearings, her expression bore shock and confusion at the sudden, violent change in mood. It didn’t take long, though, for her embarrassment to morph into anger. She stared at him for several seconds with absolute rage. With a low, menacing voice, she issued a threat, “You’ll be sorry for that, Ian Gallagher.” Before he could say anything in response, she ran off into the night.

Uh oh. Ian knew he had fucked up. It was never a good idea to get on the bad side of a Milkovich. Tomorrow, he knew, he would have to deal with the consequences, but there was nothing he could do tonight. Ian sighed to himself, shrugged in resignation, and started out again towards home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first real chapter from Ian's POV. Made some tweaks from canon to the story of Ian & Mandy - wanted to provide a basis for their eventual friendship.
> 
> Next chapter will be the first from Mickey's POV.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> This chapter: Target: Ian Gallagher.

“What the fuck, Mandy?” Mickey shouted at his sister, who had finally gotten his attention by blocking his view – he had been engrossed in playing the latest Call of Duty, which his brothers had just managed to obtain (stolen, of course, along with the wide-screen TV and equipment), when he was rudely interrupted.

“He tried to rape me!”

“Huh? Who?”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled in exasperation. Obviously, he was forcing her to repeat herself. “Ian Gallagher!!”

Gallagher…? Oh right, he suddenly remembered – must be one of those kids from that Mick family a few blocks over. Shit, there were so many of those fucking Gallaghers – which one was Ian? Mickey had to ponder for a moment before he finally decided Ian must be the redheaded one. Last time he recalled seeing that kid, he was small and skinny – even Mandy could take him on in a fight and win (though Mandy _was_ pretty scrappy, tougher than she looked). He wasn’t quite buying it. Sometimes his sister had a flair for the dramatic.

He sighed, unpaused the game and moved his head to try and see around her. “Why would his scrawny ass do that? Doesn’t he know your muff’s seen more dick than a Russian whore’s?” He let out an open-mouthed chuckle at his own crude joke.

Mandy didn’t seem amused. “Asswipe!” she shouted as she slapped the game controller out of his hand. “I’m serious!”

Suddenly, she was hovering over him, her face so close that he was forced to slide down slightly on the couch to avoid going cross-eyed to look at her. Jesus, what the fuck crawled up her cooch? Now that he was observing his sister closely, he could see the genuine distress on her face. He knew something had been going on with her today – she had spent the whole day locked away in her room – but he hadn’t known exactly what. He had just assumed that she was on the rag or something. His sister was a mysterious creature sometimes.

Her eyes and nose were red; obviously, she had been crying. Mickey knew his sister well enough to recognize when she was putting on an act – this time, though, he could see she was sincerely upset. A knot of anger suddenly twisted in his stomach. Who the fuck was this kid, to mess with his sister, a Milkovich? This kind of disrespect could not go unchecked.

He looked Mandy squarely in the eye and vowed solemnly, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” she said, with a resolute nod of her head. “He works over at the Kash & Grab after school. He’s probably there now.”

Grabbing the controller off the floor, she bounced onto the couch next to him and took over the game, her brother now abruptly, entirely forgotten. Now that she was satisfied that she had finally gotten Mickey to take her seriously and provoked him to action, her mood seemed to suddenly improve. She quickly became engrossed in the life-like graphics flashing in front of her, nearly all signs of distress erased from her face. At least the fucking waterworks had stopped.

Mickey looked over at his sister with amazement at the sudden mood swing – he had seen this before from her, but still, he could hardly believe how, after confronting him so urgently just a few moments ago, she was now gleefully shouting obscenities at the simulated action on the screen. He shook his head, marveling at his sister’s ability to compartmentalize her feelings when necessary. He was kinda jealous of it, actually – such coping strategies were useful when living in the Milkovich household.

Whatever – still gotta defend the family honor, he thought. Mickey perked up in anticipation of a violent retribution; truly, administering beat-downs was one of his favorite hobbies. This could be fun. He jumped off the couch and began calling out to his brothers, hoping to find a couple of recruits for the mission at hand.

\---

Having managed to convince two of his brothers to accompany him, Mickey led them to the Kash & Grab. As they walked, when he wasn’t imagining how badass they looked (in his mind, they were marching down the street in slo-mo like the gang in _Reservoir Dogs_ ), Mickey’s thoughts drifted to his target, one Ian Gallagher. Hmmm… what did he know about this Ian Gallagher? He’d never given him much thought before, but let’s see… Ok, well, he came from a large family – what were there, five, six kids in all? Of course, Mickey had four older brothers and a younger sister himself; large families weren’t that uncommon in his neighborhood. After all, fucking’s the best free entertainment there is, especially if you don’t pay for birth control.

Like everyone else in the South Side, he also knew all about Ian’s father, the infamous Frank Gallagher. Frank was known for his high-octane drug and alcohol use, frequent scams, and tendency towards long-winded drunken rants, usually of the stick-it-to-The-Man variety. He was a reprobate, sure, but overall generally harmless – Mickey counted the Gallaghers lucky there.

Hmmm… was there also a Ma Gallagher around? He seemed to vaguely remember an older blonde woman who could be Ian’s mom – though come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her around in quite some time. Maybe she had died, like his own mother, who had passed away when Mickey was only ten.

Of all the fucked up circumstances in his life – and there were many to chose from –his mom dying when he was just a kid was definitely one of the most devastating. It wasn’t even just the fact that she had died, though of course that would have been bad enough – it was also that he had had to witness her wasting away for months before she finally succumbed. “Ovarian cancer,” he had overheard his aunt say at the funeral, finally giving him – after the fact, as it were – a name for this thing which had so cruelly taken his mother. Not that he had a fucking clue what that was, anyway. Nothing about her affliction, least of all the implications for him or his younger sister, was ever really explained. Largely ignored by the distracted adults around them, the two youngest Milkoviches could only watch, helpless and terrified, as their mother had weakened, withered and waned, until one day, she was gone.

It was a terrible trauma for him, of course, but even worse for Mandy, a girl merely eight years old, left without a mom in a house full of barbarous thugs. Mickey had instinctively felt protective of his little sister, and even though he was still just a kid himself, he had done his best to take care of her. In the daytime, this meant distracting her with games and silly jokes; at night, when things got particularly difficult, it meant letting her sleep in his bed while she clung to him like a raft at sea, her tears often drenching his shirt and pillow so that he woke in a soggy mess.

They never talked about what had happened, not really – Milkoviches weren’t talkers, especially not about feelings and shit like that. But the loss had bonded them inviolably. As the youngest members of the family, their mother’s death had hit them particularly hard, weaning them prematurely from their only available adult source of comfort and affection. Once she was gone, they were left solely in the care of their father, Terry, who typically vacillated between two primary states: drunken asshole or just asshole. There weren’t really many other options when it came to Mickey’s dear old dad.

Mickey’s relationship with his father was complicated. In some ways, he idolized his pops. No one fucked with Terry, because they knew that if they did, he would beat the shit out of them (or worse). Terry made it a point to teach his boys, both by explicit lesson as well as by implicit example, to use violence as the go-to solution for problems and as a means to ensure respect from those around them. Mickey was proud of the fact that pretty much everyone in the neighborhood was afraid of his dad, that they all treaded very carefully in his presence.

And in many ways, Mickey was a chip off the old block: never afraid to use violence – more often than not, initiating it; consistently foul-mouthed and offensive in his speech – his vocabulary included an impressive range of ethnic slurs and lewd obscenities; and frequently targeting the weak – homos and half-wits were favorite choices for bashing victims. Mickey had even gotten the phrase “FUCK U-UP” tattooed across his knuckles in order to increase his intimidation factor.

But secretly, in a deep, dark recess of his heart – tucked away behind an unrequited yearning for paternal love, in a place he hardly even acknowledged existed, even to himself – Mickey harbored a seething nugget of hatred of his father. After all, Terry’s explosive violence wasn’t just reserved for neighborhood fuck-ups or rival drug dealers who crossed him; he also frequently beat his own sons, especially his youngest.

Perhaps it was because Mickey was the smallest of his brothers (“the runt of the litter,” as his father liked to call him), even though he was strong and lean, much more fit for example than his two oldest brothers, who were built like pudgy linebackers. Or maybe it was because once, while he was still reeling from his mother’s death, he had publicly let his emotions get the best of him, an offense for which he sometimes wondered if his father would ever let him live down. It wasn’t even like he fucking cried or anything, just that for a brief moment, he forgot who he was and allowed the mask to slip, revealing that he was more than just a heartless thug.

It had started when, just as he was completing a meth deal, a pimply-faced kid had dumbly walked by and rubbernecked on the transaction. Of course, witnesses had to be given ample reason to stay quiet. Mickey was mid-beat down, his arm pulled back in preparation for another blow to the kid’s face (he had already given him a broken nose and a nasty gash on the cheek), when he had suddenly stopped short, his gaze snagged on the kid’s glassy terror-filled eyes, silently pleading with him to stop. Something about the abject fear radiating from his victim’s eyes had struck a chord in him, triggering a memory of the helplessness he had felt as he watched his mother wither and die; all at once, he had lost his nerve. Shaken by his own sudden bout of empathy, he wound up letting the kid go, his don’t-snitch threat left dangerously incomplete.

Unfortunately, this humiliating display of weakness had happened in full view of his brother Tony, who promptly blabbed to Terry. It didn’t matter that Mickey was just a kid, especially, one who had just lost his mother. When Terry found out that his son was endangering the family reputation by demonstrating compassion – a sin akin to surrender in his mind – he beat Mickey so savagely that he never forgot the lesson: Milkoviches show no mercy.

Of course, Mickey also harbored a secret fear that his dad singled him about because he knew about certain of his son’s very un-Milkovich-like indulgences. He tried not to think about that possibility, though, since honestly, it wasn’t really any big deal or anything – it’s not like that defined him – and besides, what he enjoyed in his spare time was none of his dad’s fucking business. Also, he was pretty sure that if Terry did know, he would more than likely inflict much worse than a run-of-the-mill beating. The fact that Mickey was still alive and in one piece indicated that his dad was probably in the dark about all of that. Best to keep it that way.

Whatever the reason for the special treatment, it meant that Mickey had to be extra diligent to maintain the tough Milkovich façade, even – perhaps especially – at home. Outward manifestations of emotion could be dangerous, and so he became adept at burying his feelings, ensuring that no trace of vulnerability was visible on the outside. Any emotion that did escape came out as anger – frequently violent – as this was the only form of expression that was tolerated.

He felt that it should have helped his standing with Terry that he was the smartest in the family, especially good with numbers – it was Mickey, after all, who had prevented the family from getting screwed over a number of times when their supplier tried to get greedy. Unfortunately, brawn was much more valued than brains by the Milkovich patriarch. And if innate intelligence wasn’t valued, education was even less so; by the time he hit high school, it was expected that he would work pretty much full time in the family business, which consisted of an assortment illegal activities, anything from low-level drug dealing to gunrunning to various other scams – never anything too lucrative, just enough to keep the family (barely) afloat in the South Side.

The only reasons he really ever went to school these days were to stash or sell drugs, or to ensure the Milkovich reputation for bullying and mayhem was kept intact. Besides, with his frequent stints in juvie and extended stays in random relatives’ homes and halfway houses (due to his father’s repeated incarcerations), he had eventually, inevitably, fallen irrecoverably behind in his schoolwork; at some point, he gave up even trying.

Terry was also quite volatile, and difficult to predict. Mickey never knew when his father’s mood might flip from jovial to homicidal, and these 180s usually happened quite suddenly, making them difficult to avoid. The only times he was able to get a reprieve from the beatings were when Terry was in prison, though these periods were also often tumultuous, since he and Mandy were left behind without their sole legal guardian, and thus frequently at the mercy of Social Services (who often separated them) or the kindness (more like, tolerance) of distant family members.

The one comfort he had was that whenever the beatings from his father’s hand occurred, Mandy was there to help nurse him back, silently bringing him bags of ice as the bruises bloomed on his pale skin, sneaking him bottles of their father’s whiskey to help dull the pain, and playfully trading barbs to make him laugh, even when it hurt like a motherfucker. He was grateful for his sister, as she was one of the only tender spots in his otherwise harsh existence.

Not to say that Mandy wasn’t also tough in her own way – she was, for example, not afraid to use her retractable baton when she needed to in order to defend herself against creeps on the bus. She also had a unique personal style that could perhaps best be described as “Goth slut,” with a reputation to match (well earned, Mickey had to admit). Knowing Mandy as he did made it simultaneously more difficult to believe her rape claim and more infuriating if actually true. Honestly, Mickey still had some skepticism about her story, but obviously, _something_ had happened to make her cry all day; ultimately, that was all he really needed to know.

At the end of the day, even though Mickey often fought with his sister – as close siblings often do – he would do anything for her. And so, here he was, marching to the Kash & Grab, a certain redheaded Gallagher in his sights.

\---

As he entered the store with his usual swagger, his two biggest and most brutish brothers just behind him, Mickey quickly scanned the premises and called out to his prey by name. He drew the words out, almost singing them, like De Niro’s badass character in _Cape Fear_. “You messed with the wrong girl!” he intoned, in case Ian Gallagher had any doubt why he was here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey caught a blur of orange as Ian, who had apparently been working in an aisle toward the rear of the store, rushed toward a door in the back. He reacted quickly, darting after the redhead, but with the head start, Ian was just able to elude him, managing to lock himself inside the back room before Mickey could reach him, slamming the door in Mickey’s face with a burst of air and a bang.

Not planning on letting his mark get away that easily, Mickey threw himself bodily against the door in an effort to break it down. As he repeatedly lunged forward, he spat out a steady stream of threats, loud enough to ensure he was heard through the door. Despite practically breaking his shoulder trying to break through, however, the lock would not budge.

“He’s gone!” Kash suddenly appeared behind him. Mickey paused from his assault on the door and looked over his shoulder at the nervous-looking brownie, puzzled by the interjection. He knew basically only two things about Kash: 1) he and his bitch of a wife were the owners of this establishment – his name was on the building, duh – and 2) the dude was a major pussy – Mickey’s dad had told him a few months ago (before he was sent to prison, again, this last time for drug possession) about how he beat the shit out of the guy after he had tried to stop Terry from taking his usual five-finger discount on a six-pack of beer; only a couple of punches in, Kash had started whimpering like a baby. Why the fuck would he be sticking his nose into this?

“There’s a door in the back of the storeroom,” Kash explained with a shrug, like he was apologizing for interrupting.

Fuck! Thinking quickly, Mickey shouted at his brothers to run out to the alley behind the store – if they were lucky, the kid hadn’t gotten too far and they could still catch him. He wasn’t feeling very optimistic, though; Mickey knew the chances of finding Ian anywhere near the building at this point weren’t good, given that he had gotten a pretty decent head start, and seemed to be quick on his feet. Most likely, Mickey thought with chagrin, his prey was in the wind.

At the last second, Mickey decided to relay a message to the redhead, which also served double-duty as a threat to Kash. “Tell fuckhead this is not over!” he barked, sticking his finger in the storeowner’s face. Not the most eloquent of taunts, but he had had to think fast. As he made his way out, hurrying to catch up with his brothers, he knocked over a stack of boxes that had been neatly displayed at the end of an aisle, destroying a few in the process and creating a mess. It was the Milkovich way, to maximize intimidation, destruction and mayhem at every opportunity.

When he caught up to his brothers a few moments later, he found them loitering sheepishly in the alleyway. As he had predicted, the redhead was nowhere to be found. Sighing in resignation, and needing a moment to think, Mickey fished into his pocket for his cigarettes. He pulled one out of the pack, placed it between his lips and cupped his hands around the end while he lit it, then took a long drag. He had thought this was going to be an easy deal, one and done, but this kid was proving to be a lot fucking slippier than he had anticipated.

Mickey realized that the next logical place to look for Ian, if he wanted this to be over with tonight, would be the Gallagher house. The thing is, it usually wasn’t ideal to try and grab someone for a beating from their family home – there were usually relatives, siblings and whatnot, who would likely get in the way trying to protect them. But where else would the kid go tonight?

“Fuck. I guess we gotta go to the Gallagher house now,” Mickey half-heartedly suggested to his brothers.

His brothers groaned loudly, screwing up their faces like they were in pain over the suggestion – they were plainly not enthusiastic about this potential course of action. “Aw, Mickey, come on. I’m starving!”

“Jesus, Tony – you just had a fucking Twix and a whole bag of Doritos like an hour ago. Don’t tell me your lard ass is hungry again.” Mickey knew it was useless to try and get them to continue at this point – his brothers could be such fucking pains in the ass sometimes, especially when they were hungry. But he couldn’t just immediately give in to their whining.

“You promised, Mickey. We help you avenge Mandy, you get us dinner.”

“She’s your fucking sister, too!” Neither of his brothers responded; instead, they just stood there, arms folded over their chests, not budging. He sighed – truth was, he wasn’t that eager to have deal with the entire fucking Gallagher clan tonight, either.

“Fuck it,” he finally muttered. Mickey didn’t have it in him to argue any further with his brothers just now; frankly, he was glad to be off the hook for pursuing this kid any more tonight. “All right, let’s go. But we still gotta find the kid for the beat-down. Tomorrow. Ok, Numbnuts?” They grunted in acquiescence. Good enough, he thought, and began leading them in the direction of Taco Bell.

The defense of Mandy’s honor would just have to wait until tomorrow.

\---

The next day was Saturday, which Mickey was glad about as it meant that he wouldn’t have to make an appearance at school to try and find the redhead. He checked the usual places: the Kash & Grab, under the L, the Alibi (a local bar which he knew Frank Gallagher frequented) – no sign of Ian.

After a few hours of fruitless searching, he and his brothers decided to take a break from the hunt and go hang out at the arcade for a while. It was proving to be more difficult to avenge his sister than he had anticipated, but he had decided not to be too concerned at this point. It was a slow week, anyway – Milkovich Enterprises (unofficial title) was in a holding pattern while they waited for José, their latest beaner drug mule, to get back from his run south of the border – and so he could afford to let this thing with Ian draw out a little.

They were playing pool when he happened to look out the front windows and spotted a familiar-looking face walking down the street just outside. He quickly realized that it was Ian’s brother – Lip, wasn’t it? Jesus, who the fuck calls themselves Lip, anyway? His arm was around some blonde chick, whose face Mickey couldn’t quite make out. Mickey quickly decided to take advantage of the opportunity at hand; someone in the Gallagher family should pay for disrespecting a Milkovich. Bonus: a close family member’s battered face often sent a very effective message to a mark in hiding.

“Ay,” he called and motioned to his brothers to get their attention, pointing out the window at the couple. “Let’s go,” he barked, navigating around the pool table and making his way toward the door. His brothers threw their cues on the table and followed him, grabbing their coats on the way out. Mickey decided at the last second to hold on to his cue – never know, he thought, it might just come in handy.

The Milkoviches stepped out of the arcade just as Lip and his companion were about to pass by. Now that they were face to face, Mickey recognized Lip’s arm candy as Karen Jackson, a girl from the neighborhood who was known for being a bigger skank than Mandy (and that was saying something), with a crazy mom to boot. The brothers quickly fanned out to block the couple’s path.

“Heeeeyyyy!” Mickey put on a wide smile as Lip and Karen approached, greeting them like old friends. He had found that beginning an interaction by putting on a show of being overly friendly often worked as a tactic against unsuspecting targets. If they bought the act – many did – they usually ended up lowering their guard, creating a particularly satisfying element of surprise when Mickey finally moved in for the beat down. But even in the cases where the mark was not stupid enough to be fooled into thinking the likes of Mickey Milkovich could suddenly be his friend, the tactic typically threw him off to some degree, which Mickey also often found entertaining in its own way.

“Oh, hey Mickey,” Lip – clearly in the latter category – responded with obvious distrust, his eyes darting around as he sussed out the situation. Smart guy like him was able to easily pick up on the fact that this was an ambush. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad, not bad. Oh – hey, do you still write papers for people and shit like that?”

“Umm… Yeah, mmm-hmm”

“You think you could help me out with an English paper I’m supposta write? About some poem or some fucking thing, I don’t know.”

“English paper? You’re still in school, Mickey? I thought you dropped out ages ago.”

A flash of anger momentarily blinded Mickey – the fucker just couldn’t help himself, could he? Ok, yeah, his query was entirely a ruse, a tactic meant to throw Lip off, and ok, he hadn’t really worked out plausible details, but that didn’t mean this fucking wise-ass had to be a dick about it. Mickey suppressed an urge to slug him right then; instead, he forced himself to keep it light, to swallow his anger and put on a smile like he was in on the joke, “Whatever, man – you gonna fuckin’ help me or what?”

Lip paused, stared at the ground and wiped the sides of his mouth with his fingers pensively. He obviously sensed that Mickey’s query was a front for some other agenda, but didn’t know what that other agenda could be. He began nodding before he finally spoke, his gaze still on the ground, “Yeah. Yeah, sure, Mickey.” Having tentatively agreed, he now shifted his gaze to Mickey and held it, as though waiting for him to reveal the true motive for this little showdown.

Mickey realized there was no use in drawing out the charade any longer. He abruptly changed his demeanor, removing his smile and assuming a neutral, almost bored expression. “So – Ian messed with Mandy,” he stated flatly.

A brief shadow of confusion washed over Lip’s face. “Who, Ian?” he questioned with extreme disbelief. When Mickey nodded in the affirmative, he shook his head, “Highly unlikely.”

“It’s what she told us.”

“Nah, man, you’ve definitely got the wrong guy,” Lip insisted.

Mickey was a bit taken aback by Lip’s vehemence regarding his brother’s innocence (how could he be so sure?), but he decided to move on. After all, he had his own skepticism about what had happened. “The problem is,” he continued, “Ian’s been avoiding us all day, and someone’s gotta get a beat down ‘til we find him.”

Lip assumed a hopeful expression. “Could make an exception?”

“Not really though.” Mickey retained his neutral demeanor as he waited for Lip to react. The unspoken – but understood by all present – subtext was the choice that Mickey was laying out: we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. He waited patiently for the rat-faced Gallagher to make his next move.

Lip took his time before responding, staring down each Milkovich brother for a few seconds in turn. He eventually turned to Karen standing next to him, lingering his gaze on her when he finally spoke. “Maybe,” he began, as he slowly turned his head to look at Mickey, “Mandy’s confusing Ian with one of the four hundred other dudes from the tenth grade she’s already blown.” Blondie, shaking her head, took a step back from Lip, anticipating what was next.

Still wearing his patented disinterested look, Mickey took a long beat before reacting. He knew that Lip’s statement was simply a calculated taunt to give the Milkoviches cause – as if they really needed one – to use him as a substitute punching bag for Ian. It was his way of taking back some modicum of control over the situation; since a beat-down was inevitable, why not earn it? On some level, Mickey appreciated Lip’s approach – apparently the dude was pretty fucking smart, after all.

All right then, Mickey finally concluded with a small shrug – might as well get this show on the road. He took the pool cue and began administering the beat down, his brothers joining in seconds later.

\---

Taking that smart-ass Lip down a peg felt really good, Mickey had to admit. In fact, he was feeling so satisfied by this latest beat down that he was having trouble finding the motivation to resume the search for his original target. His appetite for wandering all over town again looking for the redhead having dissipated, he instead whittled away the rest of the afternoon with his brothers back at the arcade.

The only disturbance to their otherwise extremely pleasant day came when a manager came by and asked them to leave – he seemed to have a problem with the fact that they weren’t paying, and in the meantime, scaring away legitimate customers. He backed off pretty quickly, though, when Mickey challenged him to a “friendly” game of pool – although his reluctance to engage probably had more to do with the bloody cue Mickey made a point of brandishing as he spoke rather than any reputation he might have as a pool shark.

By the time Mickey had come down enough from his post-beat-down high to consider resuming the hunt, it was near sundown. He almost said fuck it, called it off for the day – but then he remembered Mandy’s tear-stained face, the pain in her eyes, and a new wellspring of anger bubbled up inside him. His motivation suddenly restored, he abruptly addressed his brothers, “Come on, fucktwats. Let’s go to Tommy’s and get some dogs.” He had decided that he would preempt his brothers’ whining this time and buy them dinner first – he really wanted to try and find Ian tonight, if at all possible. Lull at work or not, this thing had dragged on long enough.

But of course the question was, where to look now? They had already searched for Ian in several of the likely spots earlier in the day, with no luck. Mickey finally decided that their best bet was probably to go back to the Kash & Grab. Even though they hadn’t seen him when they checked there earlier, it seemed likely that he would be working on Saturday at some point. He must be on the late shift.

It was near closing by the time they reached the store. As they approached, he could clearly see the pale redhead through the window, standing in front of the counter, engaged in an animated conversation with his towlhead boss behind the register. Mickey’s heart sped up a bit at the thrill of vindication – and anticipation of a second satisfying beat down this day.

His brothers, having spotted Ian, began propelling toward the store like heat-seeking missiles locking in on their target. But something held Mickey back. Before his brothers could pass, Mickey signaled for them to halt, raising his arms out beside him. Confused but compliant, they looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

If they barged in now, Mickey reasoned, it was likely that Ian would just run back into the storage room again. Better to let the redhead come to them. “Let’s wait for him to come out,” he finally verbalized for the benefit of his dim-witted brothers.

Two minutes into the wait, he was already bored. The cigarettes he was chain-smoking were only making him more agitated. And what the fuck are they doing in there, anyway? Not that many customers to service at this time of night, mostly a few jittery-looking dudes coming in for beer, cigarettes or condoms. Mickey was starting to re-think his plan of waiting for Ian to emerge when his brother Tony suddenly spoke up.

“What about _Scarface_? C’mon, Mickey, you gotta admit, that’s a better movie than _Goodfellas_.” He was continuing the thread of an earlier conversation.

“…the fuck?” Mickey knew he was being baited, but even this tired conversation was more interesting than watching a silent movie of the redhead chatting up his boss. “No way, man, are you fucking crazy? This is Martin Fucking Scorsese we’re talking about. He’s a fucking genius.”

“Whatever you say, Mickey.” There was a long pause, during which Mickey thought he had finally shut down the debate. He was almost startled when Tony suddenly spoke up again. “What about that movie that had Pacino _and_ De Niro in it?”

“What, you mean _Heat_?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you fucking high? I mean, that movie was cool and all, but no fucking way is it on the level, film-wise, of fucking _Goodfellas_.”

Another long pause. “What about _Donnie Brasco_?”

And on it went, the continuation of a long-running debate that had been the topic of much bickering all day. It certainly helped to pass the time, but also distracted him from his lookout – Mickey looked up and suddenly realized that they no longer had eyes on Ian. Shit – had they somehow lost him again?

Kash, alone, finally emerged a little after closing time, locking the door behind him. Where the fuck was Ian? “Hey Kash & Grab, where’s Firecrotch?” Mickey called out. The storeowner ignored him and climbed up into the driver’s seat of his delivery van, which was parked out front.

Well, this was super fucking annoying. He was glad that he had at least gotten the beat down on one Gallagher today; otherwise, he probably would have had to take his frustration out on the chickenshit storeowner then and there. The only consolation he could come up with was the fact that Ian was obviously running scared, though honestly that didn’t really console him all that much.

Figuring that Ian was probably long gone by now – Kash must have helped squirrel him off somehow without them noticing (Mickey made a mental note to ensure that he paid for that later) – he signaled his brothers to retreat. As the Milkoviches stalked off into the night, he threw out one last warning for Kash to deliver to his employee, “He’s only making it worse – we’re gonna find him!”

Mickey contemplated his next move. They could come back tomorrow to the Kash & Grab when it opened. But so far, they hadn’t had a lot of luck with that plan of attack. If it came to it, he could probably catch Ian at school, but Mickey was hoping to get this done before Monday. They could try the Alibi again; he knew the Gallaghers were close to the bartender there.

Then there was the Gallagher house, which Mickey had been hoping to avoid. If he wanted to take care of this tonight, though, it was looking more and more like that was where this had to go. Fuck – like it or not, their best bet for finding the redhead now seemed to be Casa Gallagher; so, Mickey quickly decided, that’s where they would go next.

He ignored his brothers’ groans and led the way there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some random thoughts on this chapter:
> 
> * In the show, I don't think Mickey or the Milkoviches were fully formed as characters when they first appeared (for example, there is a mention of the mom going to pick up Iggy, even though later it is mentioned that she died). I believe it makes more sense (and is a greater counterpoint to the Gallagher family story) that she actually died, but no details are ever given (that I remember) - so I wanted to flesh that out, and comment on how her death shaped both Mickey and Mandy.
> 
> * Despite the contention of some (ahem, ShamelessNews), I do believe that Mickey and Mandy are close - they just don't express it in the same way that others, for example, the Gallaghers, do.
> 
> * I decided Mickey is a fan of gangster movies and Martin Scorsese in particular. 
> 
> * This work is definitely a slow build, and so at this point in the tale, they don't really know each other, and there hasn't been that spark of attraction (YET!!). But I think this is how it happens sometimes, you don't even notice someone at first, then something happens... well, it's coming!
> 
> Next chapter is back to Ian's POV.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> This chapter: Ian deals with a bully, makes a new friend, and confronts a thief

Crouching behind the front seats of Kash’s van, Ian could hear Mickey’s taunts. He was definitely getting fed up with the situation – no way could he continue to go on like this, living in constant fear, his boyfriend doing his dirty work by lying to Mickey to take him off Ian’s scent or sneaking Ian off when the dark-haired boy was distracted with his idiot brothers. Eventually, Ian knew, Mickey would catch up with him. It was just a matter of time.

“Fuck. I should have just slept with her.” Ian lamented once the Milkovich brothers were out of sight.

“You can’t be something you’re not, Ian.” Kash, sitting in the driver’s seat, didn’t look back at Ian as he spoke.

The irony of Kash uttering such a statement caused Ian to let out a sardonic snort – after all, this was exactly what Kash was doing, pretending to be a dutiful husband and father while sneaking off with his underage employee on the side. At the sound of Ian’s reaction, Kash turned his head and shot Ian a pained look, averting his eyes quickly. Ian had obviously struck a nerve.

It suddenly dawned on Ian that Kash’s hypocrisy actually proved the point – Kash was living a lie, but he was also pretty miserable most of the time, clearly not invested in his roles as a husband and as a father to his two young sons. The realization caused Ian to make a vow to himself, in that moment, to never lie about who he was. It would be better, he thought, to take a thousand Milkovich beatings than to live inauthentically and miserably. Kash’s wretched marriage and dreary life served as a cautionary tale for the consequences of denying who you are.

Feeling a sudden bout of sympathy for his boyfriend, who was trapped in his inauthentic, miserable life, Ian reached out and put his hand on Kash’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. Turning his head, Kash met Ian’s gaze, and Ian nodded reassuringly. He could see that Kash was wary as he searched Ian’s face for signs of insincerity, but Ian maintained eye contact, smiling benevolently to ensure that Kash understood that his gesture was genuine.

Finally convinced of Ian’s sincerity, the older man nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing with relief. He emitted an audible exhale as he pivoted to face forward in his seat. Without saying a word, he turned the key in the ignition, shifted the van into drive and gently pulled away from the store. The sounds of the engine purring and the tires crackling over loose gravel seemed amplified in the silence.

Neither Ian nor Kash spoke during the short ride to the Gallagher house. Ian could tell that the older man was lost in his own thoughts – Kash had a tendency to do that sometimes – and his own mood was subdued enough that he didn’t feel much like conversation, either. Soon enough, they had arrived, and Kash was bringing the van to a halt, just behind an expensive-looking black sedan that was oddly parked right in front of his house.

Ian stepped out of the passenger side door and went out of his way to walk slowly by the black car so that he could get a closer look – shit, this is a brand new Beemer, he realized as he got closer. Whose…? Oh, that’s right – Fiona’s new bougie boyfriend… Steve, wasn’t it? Ian briefly contemplated what sort of idiot would park such a car on the street in this neighborhood – park something like this out here too long and you wouldn’t be able to drive it off in one piece, if at all – but he quickly decided that Fiona’s latest boy toy was not really worth the brain cells required to ponder such a question. This guy would be gone soon enough, like all the others before him.

Before opening the gate of the chain-link fence that surrounded their dilapidated front lawn, Ian turned back to the van and raised his palm in a gesture of thanks and goodbye. He bent over slightly as he waved so that he was eye level with Kash, and their eyes briefly met. Kash nodded in reply, and then quietly shifted the van into gear and drove off. Ian knew that he needed to get home soon or Linda would be on his ass.

Yep, Ian confirmed to himself, with renewed clarity – he would never lie about being gay. Certainly, he would never allow himself to get caught up in a life that was based on a lie. It just wasn’t worth it.

Still standing in front of the house, Ian quickly scanned up and down the street, making sure no Milkoviches were around to witness him entering the house. Thankfully, the street was empty. Grateful for the reprieve, he ran up the front steps and let himself in, then took the inside stairs two at a time to get to his room.

As Ian breached his bedroom doorway, he found Lip sitting on the edge of Carl’s bed smoking a cigarette. They met eyes as Ian walked in – he was shocked to see that his brother had a large cut on his lip, along with a black eye.

“Shit, man, what happened to your face?” Ian asked in horror. With a sinking feeling, he guessed the answer before Lip said it.

“Ran into the Milkovich brothers,” Lip said matter-of-factly.

“Fuck!” Ian exclaimed – a single word expressing the conflicting mix of concern, gratitude and anger he felt about what Lip had endured on his behalf.

Ian had just opened his mouth to add additional comment when he was interrupted by shouting coming from outside – it was a voice he was becoming all too familiar with. He made his way to the window, and Lip followed closely behind. The Gallagher brothers peered out of their window and observed the Milkovich brothers approaching the house just as boy-toy Steve was leaving, about to get into his fancy shiny car.

“Hey,” Mickey called out to Steve to get his attention, “Ian in there?”

Ian held his breath as he watched the scene unfold below, unsure of how the new man in Fiona’s life would respond. Could Steve be trusted not to rat on Ian? South Side Rules dictated that if a neighborhood thug was asking you about the whereabouts of someone they obviously were looking to cause physical damage to, you didn’t rat on the person in hiding (unless perhaps you were an unscrupulous character like Frank Gallagher). But Steve was obviously not from around here – who knew what the rules were where he came from?

To Ian’s relief, Steve was quick and convincing in his lies: No, Ian was not home, and No, he had no clue where he was. Well, all right Steve! Maybe this latest boyfriend of Fiona’s wasn’t as big of a loser as he originally thought.

Ian’s relief was short-lived. As soon as Steve drove off, Mickey suddenly turned and looked up at the house, his gaze moving directly to the window where Ian and Lip were perched. The brothers immediately lunged back from the window, hoping that they had been quick enough to avoid being spotted.

Thankfully, Mickey seemed to have only just managed to catch a glimpse of Lip. “How’s your lip, Lip?” Mickey yelled up tauntingly.

Lip didn’t respond, of course. His lack of engagement didn’t deter Mickey, though, as he then proceeded to let loose a barrage of threats toward the house. He was obviously hoping to draw Ian out, or at least be given some sort of sign indicating that Ian was inside. The Gallagher house was quiet in response to the onslaught, and Ian couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for Lip as well as his sister Fiona, who he knew must be downstairs purposely remaining silent on his behalf.

Eventually, appearing to run out of steam from repeatedly shouting provocations and getting absolutely no response, the heckling began to taper off. Finally, in today’s battle of Milkoviches vs. Gallaghers, Mickey was forced to concede defeat. As the Milkovich brothers stalked off into the darkness, Mickey threw one final threat over his shoulder, assuring Ian – or whoever else might be listening – that this was far from over. Though he had called off hostilities this night, it was obvious that Mickey was not going to give up on his quest for retribution for his sister any time soon. Ian knew the cat and mouse routine would resume again tomorrow.

But for tonight, now that the Milkoviches had cleared out, the Gallaghers could finally relax. Ian went to grab a couple of beers from the sill – they usually left a few there to chill in the crisp Chicago autumn air, saving a trip downstairs – and Lip lit up another cigarette. Observing closely the wounds on Lip’s face, Ian felt a pang of guilt for being the cause. “Sorry your face got busted up,” Ian began. “I didn’t touch her, you know – she tried to rape me, and I pushed her off, and now she’s mad.”

“I know that, Ian, but her brothers think you did.”

“What the fuck was that all about?” Fiona suddenly appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, looking perturbed. Carl and Debs, holding Liam, crowded behind her, lookyloos to the scene. Fiona was staring Ian down, hands on her hips, arms akimbo, waiting for him to respond. She glanced over at Lip, and quickly did an obvious double take as she took in her brother’s nasty-looking facial wounds. Her forehead suddenly wrinkled with concern, “Oh my god, Lip! What happened?”

Lip, ever the snark, immediately launched into his response. “Got into a little altercation with Mickey over an English paper. He wanted a discount because he thought my conclusions on Tennyson were simplistic and not supported by the text. I told him that there was no way any teacher worth their salt would believe that Mickey wrote the paper unless the conclusions were simplistic enough that a monkey could have thought them up. For some reason, he took umbrage to that – hence the…” he trailed off, pointing at his face.

Fiona rolled her eyes, exasperated. She knew Lip was being a smartass. “Are either of you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

Ian looked at his shoes and remained silent; Lip clammed up in solidarity. As much as he loved his sister for wanting to protect him, he was wary of bringing her mama bear energy into his conflict with the Milkoviches. Also, to explain would require him to tell her what happened with Mandy, which might lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Eventually, he would tell her that he was gay, but just not tonight.

Finally, Fiona let out a sigh of resignation. “Please, just be careful. We don’t need this to escalate to a South Side version of the Hatfields and McCoys.” She gave her brothers one final stare down before finally turning to leave, shuffling the younger siblings with her as she left her two oldest brothers to themselves.

After Fiona had gone, Ian and Lip sipped their beers in silence for a few minutes. Lip was the first to break the silence. Trying to be helpful, in his own way, Lip suggested, “Maybe, you should just… throw it in her? You know, if it’ll call her brothers off.”

“Yeah…” Ian sarcastically pretended to ponder the suggestion. “And maybe, you should just throw it in Kash, right?”

Not missing a beat, Lip retorted, “Why, is he asking about me?”

“Yeah, he’s planning on going through all of the Gallagher brothers.”

“Cool.”

Ian laughed and Lip soon joined in. Despite the circumstances, Ian was really happy that he could share such a moment with Lip, especially considering their initial strife over his relationship with Kash. He felt foolish now for not having shared with his brother sooner.

He fell down backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, now fully at ease. The brothers’ laughter subsided, and they settled into a comfortable silence for a time. Ian nursed his beer and surrendered to his thoughts. His mind was buzzing – and not just from the alcohol – as he contemplated his predicament from every angle he could think of.

Ultimately, he realized, if he wanted to end the harassment, he would probably have to just suck it up and take the beat down. Soon, he was drifting off to sleep, Mickey’s taunts following him into his dreams.

\---

The next morning, Ian woke up early (as usual) and with a plan. He decided he was tired of hiding, tired of running, and he just wanted to get the Milkoviches off his back. So, instead of waiting for Mickey to find him, he decided, he would find Mickey, and he would end this. He would go to the Milkovich house, wait for Mickey to come out, and he would… hit Mickey in the head with a baseball bat? Well, it was really the best weapon he had handy – the Gallaghers (with the exception of Carl) weren’t really into firearms.

Before anyone else in the house was awake, Ian slipped out, grabbing the Gallagher family baseball bat – the one that Fiona always ensured remained hanging by a string on a nail in the wall near the bottom of the front stairs (supposed to be used for protection against intruders only) – on his way out. Quickly walking the few blocks to the Milkovich house, he stationed himself behind the trash bins across the street, where he had a perfect view of the Milkovich front door, and settled in to wait for Mickey to emerge.

After laying in wait for what was probably close to an hour, during which time he heard nary a peep from the house (the Milkoviches weren’t early risers, he was not too terribly surprised to discover) Ian was startled by a hand suddenly on his shoulder. Surprise turned to quick relief when he realized it was Lip, who was now sidling up next to him. Of course, when Lip had realized Ian was gone and the baseball bat was missing, he had immediately put two and two together and knew exactly where to find Ian.

As Lip crouched down next to his brother, he asked Ian what his plan was. Ian quickly filled him in. He had barely finished uttering his (admittedly hastily put together and not well thought out) plan when Lip asked, “What about the other brothers?” Damn – Lip was always thinking two steps ahead.

“They’ll probably beat me to death,” Ian acknowledged.

Undaunted, Lip reached down to pick up a stray brick that was lying on the ground nearby. As he gently tossed and caught the brick a few times, getting a feel for it’s weight and deciding on the best angle to grip the somewhat irregularly shaped object, he offered to help Ian by fighting off the brothers, giving Ian time to run. Ian protested – this was his battle, and Lip had already taken one beat down on his behalf.

“Eh – it’ll be fun,” Lip simply responded with a sly smirk, “I owe him one.”

Before Ian could argue further, the door to the Milkovich house squeaked open; Ian tightened his grip on the bat, sucked in a quick breath and held it in anticipation of an eminent violent confrontation. He squinted to get a better look at the figure that had just emerged, exhaling as he quickly realized that he wasn’t looking at Mickey; instead, it was Mandy who had paused on the porch to wrap her scarf securely before stomping down the stairs and turning into the abandoned lot next to her house.

“Shit!” Ian spat out in frustration – this was not going according to plan. Thinking fast, he decided on a new plan. Ian got up, handed the bat to Lip, and ran to try and catch up with Mandy.

“Mandy!” Ian called after her, causing her to pause, turn her head just enough to see who was calling after her, and then purposely turn away and stalk off at a quicker pace. “Mandy!” Ian tried again.

Without stopping – possibly even speeding up further – she yelled out so that she could be heard even though she was facing away from him, “You better get out of here, Ian! My brothers are still looking for you!”

In a last-ditch attempt to get her attention, he yelled out, “I’m gay!”

This finally stopped her in her tracks. Even before she turned around to face him, he could see that this revelation had been a shock to her. “What?” she finally managed to let out, as she turned to face him.

“I’m gay.” Ian stood his ground, looked her in the eye as he stated his truth. He really wasn’t sure how Mandy would react to this – she could be just as homophobic as the rest of her family – but he figured he was already on the Milkovich hit list. He had to do something drastic to try and break the status quo.

Mandy was still looking at him quizzically, seemingly paralyzed with shock. Ian, meanwhile, came to the inexplicable realization in that moment that he felt great. “Wow,” he said, almost to himself, “I’ve never said that out loud before.” He was almost giddy now, drunk on the release of it. He raised his voice, no longer addressing just Mandy but the world at large, holding his arms out to his sides to show he no longer had anything to hide, “Did you hear what I said? I’m – ”

He was cut off by Mandy’s hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, preventing him from finishing. Her eyes were a little wild as she whispered, “Not here!” and began to lead him off. It was at that moment that he realized he had been standing right next to the Milkovich house – home to probably the most violently homophobic family in the South Side – shouting that he was gay. Fuck! What was I thinking!

Once they had gotten far enough away from her house to feel safe resuming the conversation, Mandy studied him skeptically. “How long have you known?” she finally asked.

“My whole life, I guess. Since Justin Timberlake, at least,” he responded, playfully jabbing at her with his elbow.

Still not fully convinced, he once again watched her transform from badass bitch to self-conscious girl. “How do I know you’re not just telling me this because you think I’m ugly or something?” She couldn’t look at him straight on as she spoke, instead peeking sheepishly up at him at a sideways angle.

“You’re beautiful, Mandy,” he reassured her. “I’m just not wired that way.”

Seeing the doubt still on her face, he decided the best way to convince her would be to demonstrate. Gently maneuvering her so that they were facing each other, he placed his palm on her breast. He then took her hand and placed it on his crotch. They stood there like that for a few moments, long enough to confirm that his cock remained as flaccid as a deflated balloon. “See? Nothing,” he finally concluded with a shrug. Mandy could only manage a small smile as the truth finally sunk in. She pulled away from him and wondered off a few feet, pensive, lost in thought.

Despite his earlier bravado, once he had convinced her that he was telling the truth, he had a moment of panic at the thought of his sexuality being broadcast around the neighborhood. He wasn’t quite ready for that level of visibility. “Hey, so,” he began, “uh, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blab about this at school. Or to your brothers…”

She looked up at him, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Of course not, Ian.” A wave of relief passed through him, and he felt an immediate bond with this contradictory raven-headed beauty. Sharing a secret, he realized, tended to forge a relationship quickly.

“In fact,” she continued, and he could see the wheels turning in her head as an idea was formulating in her mind, “I could pretend to be your girlfriend at school.” Ian couldn’t help but be surprised at this proposal. “Then no one would ever give you a hard time.”

He tossed the idea around in his mind for a moment. Ok, maybe this did constitute lying of a sort, which he had vowed never to do. However, it would certainly make his life easier, especially at school. Perhaps give him some cover to allow him to reveal the truth in his own time. Unsure, Ian questioned, “You’d do that for me?”

“Sure,” she responded readily, “It’d keep the creepy guys off me. Besides,” she took his hand, “I’ve never actually had a real boyfriend before.” Ian shot her a perplexed look. “Well, not that you’d be a real boyfriend,” she continued, speaking rapidly, defensively, “but a boyfriend that I could actually do things with, instead of just… getting finger-banged all the time.”

Ian couldn’t help but giggle at her crudely blunt – but no doubt accurate – assessment of the dating behavior of most of the boys in their high school. He realized now that what she was proposing was just as much for her than it was for him (if not more so). This knowledge made it easier to bend his principles – temporarily, he assured himself – and so he smiled at Mandy, shrugged, and nodded in acquiescence.

That morning, Mandy became the first Milkovich he would come to love.

\---

Things quieted down for a while after that – Mandy was successfully able to convince her brothers to lay off Ian, and he and Mandy began spending more and more time together. Ian had never had very many friends, and it was nice to have someone else besides his brother who he could be completely open and honest with. Ian told Mandy about his mom, about his dreams of joining the military, even about his relationship with Kash – things he had never been able to talk about with anyone before.

Mandy, for her part, also seemed to value their friendship – she didn’t talk much about it, but Ian knew that her family situation was a bit of a nightmare. They were an escape for each other, and quickly became the type of lifelong friends that were like family.

Other than Mandy, Ian tried his best to avoid the Milkoviches. He knew that he was one of the few who had escaped without receiving a promised Milkovich beat down, and even though his new status as Mandy’s boyfriend should provide him immunity, he didn’t want to chance it. The Milkoviches were notoriously volatile, and Ian didn’t want to give them any excuse to suddenly remember that he was the one who got away.

So when Ian came to the store one afternoon and noticed Mickey perched on the railing across the street, smoking and biting his fingernails, he thought it was best not to engage. Mickey, for his part, either didn’t notice Ian or chose to ignore him, and frankly, Ian was glad for that. It was the closest he had been to Mickey since the dark-haired thug’s quest to avenge his sister’s honor, and given the fact that their last encounter had consisted of Mickey repeatedly threatening him serious bodily harm, Ian was just happy to have gotten this close and come away unscathed.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on the détente with Mickey, though, because as soon as he walked in the store, Kash’s wife Linda was on him, barking rapid-fire orders about what needed to be done that day. He peeked over at Kash, who was sitting slump-shouldered behind the register looking like a dog who had just gotten caught tearing up the garbage, and Ian knew that Linda’s harangue had been going on for a while before he got there.

As Ian took off his coat, he took a quick glance around the store and noticed Kash and Linda’s two young sons hovering quietly in a corner. He couldn’t help but feel just then a pang of sympathy for Kash, who was getting berated by his wife in full view of his children. Of course, Ian also knew that Kash did have a pretty strong lazy streak – he had a bad habit of getting lost in daydreams for long stretches of time and completely neglecting his work – and so he could see why Linda would sometimes get frustrated with her husband. Ian had even tried to cover for Kash’s mistakes a few times, though Linda was usually too smart to be fooled.

Generally, though, Ian tried to stay out of their domestic quarrels, doing his work without complaint and staying the hell out of Linda’s way when she was on one of her tears, like now.

When Linda finally left the store, wrangling up her boys so that she could take them to Muslim Boy Scouts, they both sighed with relief. As soon as she had cleared out, Ian made a point of catching Kash’s eye. He still bore the hangdog look he typically got after enduring one of Linda’s tirades, so to cheer him up, Ian shot his boyfriend a quick smile and a wink. He knew Kash would understand that this was also an invitation for backroom sex, to be cashed in later. Ian was gratified when he saw the conspiratorial smile spread over Kash’s face. He left Kash to man the register in good spirits as he made his way to the back room to begin the inventory counts.

Ian had just started inspecting the latest delivery of soup cans when he realized he must have dropped his pen in the store. He was on his way back to retrieve it when, just as he was about to step over the threshold, he heard the front door jingle. He paused to see who would enter. His first thought was that it was probably Linda, returning to unload a few more tasks on her husband and employee. Ian prepared to duck back into the storeroom at the first sign of patterned cloth framing cream-colored face.

Instead, Ian froze as he recognized the familiar raven-headed figure waltzing in – fuck, he had forgotten that Mickey had been loitering outside. Ian suddenly realized that the timing of Mickey’s entrance was not a coincidence – he must have been waiting for Linda to leave. It seemed even Mickey Milkovich knew better than to mess with Linda, and Ian couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at this revelation. Ian knew he should probably get back to work, but he was now curious about his best friend’s closest brother. So, he stayed where he was and observed.

Mickey’s first move upon entering was to make a beeline for the refrigerator units at the back of the store. Ian took a quick peek over at Kash, who was sitting at the register re-stocking the nearby selection of gum packets, and saw that he was also watching Mickey’s movements closely. After grabbing a blue Gatorade off the top shelf, Mickey proceeded to work his way through the aisles to pick out a few more items – some Pringles, a box of Ring Dings, a packet of beef jerky – before heading for the register.

An inexplicable smile snuck up on Ian as he watched his former nemesis; the slightly bored expression, the bow-legged swagger, the “dirty punk” vibe of his clothes and body – when not coming for him personally, he had to admit, he found this thuggish urchin strangely appealing. In another life, he mused, perhaps he and Mickey would have been friends. Or maybe he was just projecting because he knew how Mandy felt about her brother. Reminding himself of the ordeal Mickey had put Ian – and Lip – through when they last interacted, Ian decided the dark-haired Milkovich was probably best appreciated from afar.

As Mickey approached the register, Kash eyed him warily. He dropped the Gatorade roughly on the counter, and, looking directly at Kash, rudely grabbed the cardboard box from which Kash had been removing fresh packets of gum for the counter display. He then calmly upended the box, causing its contents to spill out onto the counter right in front of Kash, and proceeded to fill it with his collected items, adding in a couple of Kit Kat bars from the counter display for good measure. Pausing briefly to inspect his loot, Mickey nodded his head slightly as if going through a mental checklist. Finally, appearing to be satisfied with his cache, he put the box under his arm and headed for the door.

As Mickey was just about to exit, he doubled back. “Oh hey, heads up man,” he spoke to Kash in a calm, almost friendly manner, “you’re out of barbeque Pringles.” Kash simply watched him leave in silence.

Wait – what the fuck? Did Mickey just steal that stuff right in front of Kash? And why the fuck did Kash just sit there and let that happen? Ian rushed in the store, now in a huff, asking Kash (even though he already knew the answer), “Did Mickey pay for that?”

Kash, obviously embarrassed at his display of weakness in front of Ian, responded defensively, “What was I supposed to say to him?”

“How about, ‘cut the shit, Mickey!’” Ian knew he was perhaps being a bit harsh with his boss (boyfriend), but he couldn’t help but be annoyed that Kash did absolutely nothing while Mickey robbed him literally right to his face.

“I tried that with his father.” Ian looked at him skeptically. “Yeah, like a few months ago, Terry came in, grabbed a bunch of stuff, and was about to walk out with it when I called out to him and asked him if he was going to pay for that. He didn’t even pause, Ian, he just came right up and started wailing on me.”

Ian still looked dubious, so he continued, “Look, you know how these Milkoviches are, you had your run-in with Mickey a few weeks ago. I’m not going to risk bodily harm over a few piddly groceries. It’s just the cost of doing business.” Ian could tell that Kash wanted him to think that he was taking a principled stand, but Ian couldn’t help but feel that really, Kash was simply afraid. He clearly was hoping that Ian would simply drop the subject.

Before Ian could decide whether or not to continue, though, he was interrupted by the door jingle. It took a second to register that, incredibly, it was Mickey who had entered and who was now whizzing past on his way to the back of the store. Ian heard the door to the refrigerator unit open and close, and a moment later, Mickey was passing by them again on his way out. As Mickey strode by, Ian fixed the dark-headed thug with an angry glare.

Ian didn’t expect Mickey to even acknowledge him or Kash as he passed them, but he was surprised when Mickey suddenly turned and faced them, holding up a small plastic container. “I forgot the dip,” he stated simply. Within seconds he was out the door again.

Ian turned angrily back to Kash, who was still just sitting there looking sheepish and not saying a word. He was starting to really get pissed off by Kash’s complete passivity in the face of Mickey’s brazen thievery. “Jesus, Kash,” he finally breathed out in disgust, concluding that he would have to take matters into his own hands. He exited the store intent on confronting Mickey; Kash followed meekly behind him.

Mickey did not seem to be in any particular hurry to leave the scene of his crime; he had only just crossed the street when Ian emerged from the store. “Hey Mickey!” Ian called out. Mickey turned around slowly to face Ian, who continued, “Why don’t you show some civic pride, steal from somewhere else besides your own neighborhood!”

Mickey seemed to take a beat to contemplate this, and Ian thought for a brief moment that maybe somehow what he said had actually caused Mickey to rethink his actions. Ian was soon disabused of this notion though, when, a few seconds later, Mickey shrugged, reached into his box, grabbed the container of dip, and hurled it with gusto at Ian and Kash. They were forced to duck to avoid the splatter, which wound up covering a large swath of the front of the store. Slowly sauntering away, licking some stray dip from his fingers, he threw one last taunt over his shoulder, “You know where I live if you have a problem.”

Ian, his face twisted in anger, glared at Mickey’s back as he walked away. What a fucking asshole! He was so caught up in shooting lasers at Mickey’s receding figure that he was startled by a hand placed gingerly on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly and quickly realized it was Kash, who spoke in his ear softly, but with a slight nervous edge, “We should clean this up before Linda gets back.”

Ian turned back to facing forward and immediately drew his eyes back to where he had last seen Mickey, but the dark-haired boy must have turned a corner, as he was no longer in view. Ian finally sighed, nodded, and made his way back into the store to get the window cleaning equipment.

As he mechanically went about the motions of cleaning up the mess, Ian contemplated the situation. He loved Kash (didn’t he?), but his limp response to Mickey was causing Ian to go limp in other ways. No – he was being unfair to Kash. After all, Kash wasn’t from the South Side; he had actually grown up just north of Chicago in an upper-middle class neighborhood in the suburb of Evanston. He was ill equipped to handle bullies – look at how he cowered from his own wife.

Ian found it a bit ironic that neither Mickey nor Kash wanted to deal with Linda; Mickey avoided the store while she was around, and Kash made sure to hide from her the evidence of his inability to stop petty thievery by a neighborhood teenager.

The cover-up might work for today, but Ian knew that now that Mickey had discovered what an easy target the Kash & Grab was, he would be back, and he would keep coming back as long as he was able to get away with simply taking what he wanted with impunity. Eventually, Ian knew, something would have to be done to stop the dark-haired teenager.

For now, however, he decided he wouldn’t worry about eventually – today, he would just be a dutiful employee (caring boyfriend?) and help Kash hide the evidence from his wife. Ian sighed to himself and focused on scrubbing the dip from the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter stays pretty close to the show, but I added a few fun new elements, as well as some breadcrumbs for points which will pay off later in the story.
> 
> Next chapter: An unexpected character POV


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> This chapter: Linda decides to protect the Kash & Grab and reminisces about the past

Do they really think they’re fooling me? Linda could only roll her eyes at the gullibility her husband and employee assumed from her. Of course she was aware of the missing inventory, despite Kash’s lame attempts to keep it from her by replacing the stolen items with goods bought at a competitor store a few blocks away. 

She knew who was behind it, too – those Milkoviches were notorious thugs and her husband made an easy target. She realized that if she wanted to keep the likes of Mickey Milkovich from stealing away all of their already meager profits, she would have to do something. After all, God knew her pussy of a husband wasn’t going to do anything to stop him.

The first step, she decided, was to install surveillance cameras throughout the store. That way, even if Kash was incapable of confronting the bully head-on, she could at least get video evidence of the crimes to submit to the police later. Also, as an added bonus, the cameras would allow her to keep an eye on what actually went on in the store while she was away.

Ian seemed like a good enough kid, and he worked hard, but she couldn’t help but be a little suspicious. He and the Milkovich boy were both from the neighborhood, after all, both teenagers… was it possible that they were somehow in cahoots? Was the thievery actually an inside job? Honestly, she didn’t think so – she generally liked and trusted Ian – but either way, she intended to find out the truth, and if she had to appropriate the surveillance cameras for spying on her own employee, so be it.

Of course, it would be better to try and stop the thievery from happening in the first place. For sure, it would take more than just words to be effective in warding off a Milkovich – for that, a weapon – a gun – was necessary. It really was a wonder that she hadn’t already armed the store, or at least bought protection for her family. It seemed pretty crazy to her now to have owned a business on the South Side for this long and not have bought a gun to protect it. 

Actually, the truth was that she had thought of it – had even brought it up to Kash a few times – but she had always let him talk her out of it.

“They already hate us because we’re Muslim and they think we’re terrorists,” he would say, “If we go around carrying guns, they’ll just think they’ve been proven right.”

Linda would simply nod and let him think that she agreed with his logic, but she knew that the real reason Kash did not want to get a gun was because he was scared of them. Guns had just not been a part of his comfortable suburban childhood, and she didn’t think he had ever even touched a gun in his life, much less fired one.

Linda, on the other hand, having grown up on a farm in rural Indiana, had been taught from a very early age how to use a pistol and rifle. Her father even used to take her hunting with him from time to time, and once she even shot and killed a deer. She smiled as she remembered the proud look he wore that day, captured in a cherished photo as they squatted over their dead prey. That was long before the falling out, of course. That came later, after she met, fell in love with, and decided to marry Kash.

\---

Growing up, she had loved their family farm. Whenever she left – even just to go to school each day – she found herself longing to return. There were just always so many things to do on the farm, a seemingly endless wellspring of activities which were typically more stimulating than most of her classes. She could, for example, play with the latest batch of kittens, or run after the newly hatched chicks as they chirped and hopped around wildly, or head to the barn and check in on the newest foal. She could gently rock in the porch swing attached to their wrap-around porch while she did her homework, read a book, or simply stared out to the horizon marveling at the colors of the sunset. She could tend to the small kitchen garden they kept near the house, harvesting whatever vegetables were ripe and giving them to her mom to add to that evening’s dinner. Or, she could practice target shooting with her dad, honing her marksmanship skills by methodically shooting down the line of cans which her father had arranged for her on top of the wooden fence.

Summers were especially busy. During those long days, she would often follow her dad around all day like a stray puppy, hovering close by as he made the rounds, talking to the various hired hands who performed many of the necessary activities to keep the farm running, taking care of many chores himself. She sometimes even accompanied him to the local agricultural supply store, observing as he negotiated prices or inquired about what new equipment, seeds, or supplies were available.

She would often pepper her dad relentlessly with questions, her curiosity seemingly never completely quelled. He was always patient with her, answering her questions to the best of his abilities, never discouraging her. She was her parents’ only child, and they ensured she was never want for love or attention.

It was, in many ways, an idyllic childhood. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave this place.

Even as she approached the end of high school, when most of her classmates were busy plotting their escape from home, Linda stubbornly stuck to her conviction that to leave the farm would be folly. Besides, college was expensive, and her parents could not afford that. Much better to stay right where she was – where she was happy – and join the family business and work full time on the farm.

Any misgivings she might have had initially about her decision to stay were quashed when she saw how happy it made her parents – of course they were overjoyed to keep their only daughter with them, and in truth they had been dropping hints to suggest it for a while.

Knowing her desire to work with animals, her father immediately put her in apprenticeship with the livestock manager. Initially, she was excited about her new position – she enjoyed being near the animals, and even though most of them were ultimately destined for the slaughterhouse, she was pleased to find out that their family’s livestock manager believed in using natural methods rather than chemicals and in treating the animals as humanely as possible during their lives.

It didn’t take long, however, for her to realize that the reality of running a farm was quite different from the ideal picture she had had in her mind as a child. For one, it was relentless – truly, a 24/7 job. At least one of the animals (more likely, several) needed attention at any given time. And once she became aware of the economics of farm ownership, she realized it was also quite stressful, as you were constantly under pressure from the vagaries of weather, diseases, and market fluctuations, not to mention being squeezed by the large agribusinesses who were greedy to devour or shut down any competition, no matter how small in comparison. This, she now realized, was why her parents couldn’t afford to send her to college.

Without having school as a social outlet, she found that farm life was also quite lonely. Very few of her classmates had chosen to stick around rural Indiana after graduation, and she soon became starved for companionship with anyone her own age. She had even started accompanying her parents to church again (she had stopped going her junior year in one of her few acts of teenage rebellion) but she found that she no longer felt the sense of community with the congregation that she once did.

She did date some, mostly guys a bit older who were being groomed to take over their family’s farm or agricultural-related businesses. She was even, for a time, officially a “girlfriend” of one (the 30-year old son of the local feed store owner) – but in the end, none of them was able to sustain her interest for long. Eventually, inevitably, she found herself bored and back to being single.

Two years passed by in the blink of an eye, and she looked at her life stretching out before her, each day filled with the same people, the same relentless work to do, the never-ending stress of a life on the edge of financial disaster, and she realized she had made a mistake. Her home, this place that she had so loved as a child that she never wanted to leave, had turned into a prison of sorts. She realized then that if she stayed on the farm much longer, she would be forever stuck, without options. But she wanted something different for her life. She didn’t know yet what she would do or how she would break it to her parents, but she just knew that she had to find a way to get out.

\---

She finally hit on the solution one day after happening across a brochure tacked to a bulletin board at the local café advertising a community college in Chicago. There, the brochure claimed, you could get a low-cost Associate’s degree within two years.

It was perfect, she thought. She could tell her parents that she wanted to get a business degree in order to help them improve the running of the farm. Two years wouldn’t seem that long, and she could find a job in the city to help defray the cost.

Of course, what she didn’t – couldn’t – tell them was that she wasn’t sure she would come back, that she was hoping that this would be the start of a new life for her. It was scary, to move away from all that she had ever known, but by this time the fear of never trying something new was more powerful than the fear of the unknown. The thought of jumping into the abyss, while in a way terrifying, could also be liberating, a way to excise herself from a life she felt trapped in and begin again.

Three months after telling her parents of her plan, she was packing up the few necessities she would need to start her new life and moving into a small studio apartment in the city. She had already enrolled in three classes and secured a job at a local pet store (her intimate knowledge of animals from the farm making her more than qualified).

The first few months, in truth, were extremely difficult – she wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to so many people all the time (sometimes at the end of the day she would feel the need to come home to her apartment and just sit in silence, closing her eyes and pretending she was standing in one of the fallow fields on the farm, only the birds and bugs keeping her company), and it took a little while to get back into the swing of being a student. But Linda knew that she would feel like a failure if she quit at this point, and besides, the thought of going back to her isolated life on the farm was motivation enough to stay where she was.

Eventually, she was able to make a few friends her age, and slowly but surely, she found herself adjusting to the rhythm of her new life – school, work, friends – and at some point, she realized that, for the first time in a long while, she was actually happy.

\---

She had been in Chicago for a year when she took the class that would alter the course of her future more dramatically than she could ever have expected.

She first noticed the handsome, exotic guy when he sat in front of her in statistics class one day. Her interested piqued, she observed him closely throughout the lecture: how he sat slouched in the chair, his butt on the edge of the seat as his legs stretched out languidly in front of him; how he hardly seemed to pay attention to the lecture, his eyes staring off into the distance as though he were lost in his own thoughts; how he was dressed stylishly in a green sweater over a plaid button-down (which was untucked and sticking out from under the hem of the sweater), with fine-grained khaki-colored corduroy pants and black Addidas sneakers with bright white laces and soles.

She had never been attracted to anyone like him before – he was certainly nothing like the farm-bred boys from Indiana that she was used to – but she was all about embracing new things these days. She decided she needed to find an opportunity to meet the good-looking guy who had distracted her so much she later had to borrow the notes of a classmate, having barely registered a word the professor had said during the entire lecture.

She found her opportunity at the end of the next class, when they were handed back their last test. Linda had scored 95; she looked over at her crush’s paper and noticed that he had made an 83.

Folding up her paper to hide the grade, she made her way over to him, inserting herself in front of his face. “Wow, 83. That’s awesome!” He had been looking off at something else (she couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might have been staring at this other guy in their class, who was tapping his pencil annoyingly on his desk – Linda hated that, too), so when she appeared in front of him, it took him a moment to tear his attention away and zero in on her.

“Huh?” He finally managed to say.

She repeated the comment about his grade, then quickly pressed on, “Maybe you’d like to get together to study some time?” He stared at her for a few moments, looking at her as though she was from an alien species trying to make first contact.

She waited until he eventually caught up, his face slowly morphing into comprehension. He finally managed to respond, sputtering out, “Thanks…. Um… Sure, I guess…”

“Great! I’m Linda, by the way,” she stuck out her hand for him to shake.

“Kash,” he simply said, limply accepting her outstretched palm.

She pumped his hand enthusiastically a few times as she continued, “Great to meet you, Kash! Do you have time tomorrow? I have a couple of hours between my classes and my evening shift at the pet store where I work. What’s your schedule look like?”

She knew she was being a bit forward, that girls were supposed to wait for guys to ask them out, but she had never liked relinquishing control. They quickly settled on a time and a place to meet the next day, and then left the classroom, heading in opposite directions as soon as they exited the door.

Their courtship started off slow, pretty solidly in the friend zone for the first few months. During that time, they discussed any and everything – their respective childhoods, their favorite movies and music, even their plans for the future. They didn’t have much in common, truth be told (one exception was that they were both looking for lives different than their parents’ expectations), but at least for Linda, that only made her attraction grow.

Kash was so different than anyone she had ever known – certainly anyone that she had been close to – and she found herself drawn into his world. She began researching Iranian culture, food, and religion, and found them to be rich and exotic in ways that excited her. Though initially she was grateful that he was taking things slowly – she was, after all, still a relatively inexperienced girl from the Midwest – at some point, she wanted more.

After four months of hanging out, getting closer and closer emotionally but not physically, Linda was tired of waiting for Kash to make the first move, and finally decided to take matters into her own hands (a pattern that was already seeming to repeat itself in their relationship). So, one evening, as they were sitting side by side on her couch watching a movie, she plotted her move. Inching closer to Kash so that their arms and then also thighs were touching, Linda kept her eyes on him, gauging his reaction. To her dismay, he hardly even seemed to notice, continuing to look intently at the screen and shove popcorn into his face.

Frustrated, Linda finally made a decisive move, leaning over and quickly planting her lips on his before he even knew what was happening. Kash tensed up at first – from the shock, she assumed – but then, as she kept her lips on his, he slowly began to let go of the tension in his muscles. Soon, they were full on making out, Kash reciprocating her passionate kisses, his eyes closed and his breath heavy. The night culminated with sex – well, oral sex, her initiating – and with a threshold crossed. At long last, they were more than just friends, and she couldn’t be happier with the development.

After that, their relationship progressed quickly – though she did have to continue to lead Kash along physically. He had told her he wasn’t a virgin, but she didn’t believe him – he was pretty clueless about how to please a woman and required a lot of coaching. It was frustrating at times, but she eventually decided that his inexperience worked to her advantage, allowing her to guide him in the ways that she liked, without having to erase previously learned behaviors first.

As they became more serious, she started spending all her spare time that wasn’t at school or work with him, or trying to learn as much as she could about his culture. She began trying to cook Iranian recipes for him. She signed up for a Farsi class, even though it wasn’t part of the curriculum for her business degree. She stopped eating pork, in solidarity with his Muslim faith.

Soon, Linda began dropping hints to him about marriage, but as usual, Kash was slow to catch on.

Finally, one day, frustrated again at Kash’s inability to take the logical next step, she blurted out, “So are we going to get married, or what?” He looked at her with surprise, eyebrows up, mouth open dumbly. Recovering fairly quickly, he seemed to ponder the question seriously.

“Well… My parents would never agree for me to marry a non-Muslim,” he finally stated.

“You need your parents’ permission to marry?” She knew his family was pretty traditional, but she also knew that they had been in the states for 30 years. Surely they had made some adaptations to norms of the West.

“Come on, Linda,” he seemed to bridle at the implication that he was too meek to stand up to his parents (though of course it was true). “If I marry a non-Muslim, my parents will basically disown me. I am already disappointing them by flunking out of school” – here she tried to protest, disagree with his assessment of his academic career (even though, she had to admit, it wasn’t wrong), but he put up his hand to stop her before she could interrupt – “I just don’t want to give them a reason to write me off completely.”

Linda contemplated this ultimatum (as that’s what it was, essentially) from Kash. This was the first time she could recall that he had ever pushed back and not just accepted her lead. She decided that this must mean one of two things. Either her religion truly was an important consideration for his family (and therefore, on some level at least, for Kash as well), or he was looking for an excuse to get out of marrying her.

She dismissed the latter possibility relatively quickly – sure, he wasn’t always as demonstrative with his affection as she was (very rarely did he make the first move), but whenever she initiated, he always reciprocated, and was a willing participant to mutual expressions of love. She was confident that she knew his heart and that it belonged to her. This question of religion, she then realized, must really be important to him and his family. She could try and force his hand, make him defy his parents on her behalf, but this didn’t seem to be an auspicious way to begin a marriage. She didn’t want to be the one having to put him in the position of choosing her over his parents.

“So I’ll convert.” She almost surprised herself with how easily this declaration came.

Kash was also taken by surprise, suddenly turning his gaze back to her to study her incredulously. “Really?” She also detected a glint of fear in his eyes.

“Yes, of course, if that’s what it takes.”

The truth was that she had already been looking into Islam as part of her investigation into his culture, and had been surprised to find that she was drawn to many aspects of the religion. She hadn’t previously realized, for example, that there were many threads of commonality with the Judeo-Christian tradition that she was familiar with (such as the fact that in Islam, Jesus was a prophet who was born of a virgin). It certainly wasn’t, she had found through her readings, the terroristic, bloodthirsty religion that she had been lead to believe her whole life.

But could she really do this? Could she really actually convert? It truly would mean a break from her past, a new life. Though she had wanted to do something different when she first embarked on this journey to Chicago, and she had thought it might be permanent, in the back of her mind, there was always the option to go back. She knew that marrying Kash, converting to Islam, these were things that would put a possibly permanent wedge between her old and new lives.

For she knew that while becoming a Muslim might ingratiate her to her future in-laws, it would certainly be a source of conflict with her own Evangelical Christian parents.

But with the reckless optimism of youth, she dismissed these concerns; the bottom line was that she loved Kash and wanted a life with him. Surely her parents would not stand in the way of her happiness.

And Kash, finally, seemed relieved and appreciative of her gesture as well, breaking into a wide smile as he took her into his arms and hugged her close. She hugged him back tightly, her heart practically bursting out of her chest with joy and love.

\---

Once the declarations of intent had been made, things began to move quickly. A few weeks after their initial marriage conversation, she met his parents for the first time, and a few weeks after that, they were officially engaged. To her relief, his parents were actually quite sweet to her, especially once they had understood that she planned to convert.

She was walking on clouds she was so happy; it seemed that her future with Kash was close to being secured, but there was one final hurdle to overcome: her parents. She knew they would not be pleased with her choice, but she felt sure that once she had a chance to really explain her newly adopted faith, they would come around.

When she and Kash finally make the trek to Indiana to her parents’ farm, to her dismay, she could see the suspicion immediately in their faces when she introduced her fiancé. The exotic good looks which had attracted her to Kash in the first place were a source of immediate misgiving for her parents. She cursed the constant stream of Fox News that was beaming into the TV in the living room for stoking her parents’ xenophobia (she noted that her father had been increasingly spending time sitting in his well-worn Lay-Z-Boy, positioned for optimum brainwashing). They weren’t necessarily overtly rude to Kash, not in the beginning at least, but the conversation was definitely stilted and on the edge of impoliteness.

It was when she had finally revealed that they were engaged that her parents’ true feelings were laid bare. Her mother had gone wide-eyed and silent; her father had gone completely ballistic. After a several days of screaming matches, she finally dropped what she knew would be the biggest bombshell of all: the news of her conversion.

After that, her father, a conservative Christian who believed without doubt that surrender to Jesus was the only path to salvation, gave her an ultimatum: she could either dump that heathen and his “evil cult,” or, he and her mother would never speak to her again. Because she was young and in love and stubborn – and in her heart of hearts she didn’t really believe he would follow through with his threat (she was still Daddy’s little girl, after all) – she refused to back down, digging in her heels as the wedding day approached.

In the end, her parents did not attend the wedding, and her father had kept his word. Neither of her parents had spoken to her since her father laid down his ultimatum. It was not lost on her the irony that she had initially converted to keep Kash’s family from disowning him, and instead she ended up being the one disowned.

All these years later, she couldn’t completely regret her decision, though it did cause her pain that her repeated attempts to reach out to her family were rebuffed time and again. Every year, on her birthday, she would call them at home, try to get them to speak to her, but they never would. If her dad answered, he would just hang up right away; if she got lucky and her mom was the one who answered, she would at least be able to say a few words – give the latest news of her family, tell her mother she loved them and missed them – before the hang up.

But no, she couldn’t fully regret it, not when she had her own family now – two active young boys, in addition to Kash.

And yes, her relationship with Kash was not what she had thought it would be when they married all those years ago now. His easygoing nature – an attribute that had originally attracted her to him – now grated on her nerves; he was passive and weak and careless, and even though she generally liked taking the lead, she sometimes resented the fact that he forced her to make every decision for the family. She found herself nagging him incessantly, which sometimes made her cringe at herself, but she had found that Kash would just go along oblivious to what needed to be done if she didn’t.

And he would never stand up for himself, even when she berated him severely – she would be angry with both herself and Kash in those moments. Where his head was most of the time (or his balls, for that matter), she really didn’t know. His mind certainly didn’t seem to be on his kids, whom he seemed to be indifferent to, generally. If she was bitter about any of her choices, it was Kash, though since he was the lynchpin that started this new life, she couldn’t ultimately be sorry that she had chosen him.

One decision she had no regrets about was her choice to abandon her childhood faith and convert to Islam. She drew comfort in the rituals of her adopted religion: the prayers five times a day, the annual month of fasting, even the daily ritual of wrapping the hijab around her head. She knew her parents didn’t understand, they thought she had joined some radical cult, but her adopted faith gave her a peace that the fire and brimstone Christianity of her youth never did.

It was funny – she had originally converted, at least in large part, to please Kash and his family, to be part of his world. Over the years, however, she had noticed that Kash’s devotion to his faith was not strong. He was neglectful of his prayers, would sneak snacks during Ramadan, and even developed a taste for pork rinds (which he would sneak from the store). It had become yet another thing that Linda had to nag him about.

So when Kash used their religion as justification for not getting a gun (for justification of much of anything, really) she saw right through it.

But now, Linda felt that she needed to protect her family (her family’s livelihood, at least), so she went out to a local Muslim-owned gun store (knowing that her hijab might cause lesser-informed individuals to assume she was buying for purposes of “jihad” or some such nonsense) and bought a semi-automatic pistol. Kash would just have to grow a pair and learn how to use it.

\---

Later that evening, the firearm secure in her purse, she came into the store about an hour before normal closing time. Locking the front door behind her and turning over the OPEN sign, she announced, “We’re closed.”

As they looked on astonished, she hurriedly walked toward the back of the store, grabbing as she passed by the life-size cardboard cutout of that NASCAR star shilling for motor oil that was part of the display for their auto supply section, and ordered her husband and employee to follow her outside, beckoning them on with a flourish of her arm. Their surprise quickly converted to curiosity, they fell in line behind her as she marched out the back door.

She led them behind the store, where she placed the cardboard cutout on the ground and anchored it with a bit of stray concrete that was lying in the alleyway. Positioning herself so that she was facing the makeshift target, she backed up a few paces, then pulled out the gun (she saw, in her periphery, their eyes go wide at the sight of the weapon) and began firing.

After all these years, she was still a decent shot, and most of the bullets hit exactly where she had aimed them – right in the NASCAR dude’s crotch. She kept firing until she had emptied the clip; as the last shell casing fell to the ground, the sound vibrating in the sudden silence, she looked over to see Ian and her husband looking at her with slack-jawed surprise. “Where’d you learn how to do that?” Kash asked incredulously.

“I lived a lot of years before I met you,” she responded, deftly releasing the empty clip, reloading, and cocking the gun to ready it for the next shot. “C’mon,” she waved toward Kash, indicating that it was his turn. “Now, hold it like you want to do something with it,” she instructed as he delicately took the weapon from her.

Holding the firearm tentatively with both hands, Kash raised it up, not quite to eye level, and winced as he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the ground before it even made it to the target. He shot again, with the same result. Kash looked miserable as he steeled himself to try once more.

“Hand it here,” Ian suddenly piped up. Husband and wife turned their heads to look at him, startled. He moved toward Kash, who readily handed the gun over and stepped aside to let Ian take his spot. Ian planted his feet, raised the gun to eye level, carefully aimed, then called each shot before pulling the trigger.

“Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Left leg. Right leg. Stomach. Neck. Face. Heart.” Each bullet landed expertly on the body part announced. He stopped and looked over at his bosses. She could see that Kash, his fingers in his ears and face scrunched up in reaction to the loudness of the gun, was astonished. Not as dumbfounded as her husband, but still impressed, Linda gave Ian a nod of appreciation.

“ROTC,” he finally said to answer their unspoken question, and shot them a smug smile. Linda smiled back proudly – she knew she liked Ian!

They worked with Kash a little while longer, but the best they could do was to help him overcome his fear of the gun. He was still a terrible shot. Linda sighed to herself, resigned to the fact that her husband was hopeless with a gun. She could only hope that if it came to it, he would not have to actually fire it; hopefully, the threat alone would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I became curious about Linda, and how she came to be there. A little bit of a diversion from the main story, but I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Next chapter: Ian's POV and back to our boys - major developments ahead!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A novelization/re-telling/alternate take on the events of Season 1 of Shameless (US), focusing on the relationship between Ian and Mickey.
> 
> This chapter: Ian seeks to retrieve a stolen gun, makes a startling discovery

As soon as he walked into the store and caught a glimpse of Kash’s damaged face – black eye and nasty cut on his lip – Ian knew who was behind it.

“Mickey.” Ian stated more than asked. Hesitating, embarrassed, Kash looked away, focused his gaze downward. Finally, he gave a small nod, adding, “He took the gun.”

Ian’s face contorted with rage, and for a moment, he saw nothing, heard nothing and felt nothing but a hot flame of fury flaring up inside of him. “This ends now,” he finally managed to state, heading out the door before he even consciously realized what he was doing. Kash called out meekly for him to stop, wait, but Ian’s head was so full of anger and visions of retaliation that the older man’s voice barely even registered.

Why the fuck couldn’t Mickey just leave Kash alone? Kash was a gentle soul, not from this shitty neighborhood; he never wanted to hurt anyone. Sure, sometimes Kash’s embarrassing displays of weakness could be a turn off (like how he had reacted to the sound of the gun when Linda brought them outside for target practice, sticking his fingers in his ears like a fucking toddler). But Kash didn’t deserve to be bullied like this.

Ian also couldn’t forget that Kash had protected him when Mickey had come after him to avenge Mandy’s honor – fuck, that’s probably why Mickey was targeting him, Ian suddenly realized. Even if today’s beating wasn’t a direct retaliation for his role in helping Ian escape, it had certainly put Kash on Mickey’s radar. After all that Kash had done for him, not just with Mickey, but in general, Ian couldn’t help but feel a fierce sense of loyalty towards his boss-slash-lover-slash-boyfriend. He wasn’t going to let Mickey get away with treating Kash like his own personal punching bag.

Besides, the whole Milkovich clan had been somewhat demystified to him now that he had become friends with Mandy. A bunch of fucking drug-addled bullies was all they were, he thought angrily. He had run from Mickey before, but he wasn’t scared any more. The Milkoviches may loom larger than life by reputation in the South Side, but Ian knew, now that he had seen Mickey up close and personal, that he was actually had a size advantage over the youngest Milkovich brother. Unlike Kash, Ian _was_ from this shitty neighborhood, and had developed the necessary hardscrabble instincts to deal with a bully when cornered – he felt confident that he could hold his own against Mickey in a head-to-head fight.

At this point, the only Milkovich he still harbored some fear of encountering was Terry, but Ian was pretty sure that the Milkovich patriarch was still away in prison.

Ian walked the short distance to the Milkovich house in record time, rage filling his body with adrenaline and propelling him forward. Soon, he was leaping up the porch steps two at a time and pounding on the front door with the side of his fist. He heard footsteps approaching from the other side, and as the door began to open, he steeled himself for a confrontation.

He was surprised – and a little relieved, he had to admit – when he found himself looking at Mandy. “Hey!” she exclaimed with a smile when she saw that it was Ian. “Did you change your mind about that movie?”

He had forgotten, until that moment, about their earlier conversation, in which she had begged him to ditch work and go see the latest _Twilight_ movie with her. He had declined her offer; one, because he wasn’t in the habit of ditching work (it was a necessary source of income for his family, after all), and two, he had had a different sort of plan for how he would spend his afternoon with Kash (which, unlike the movie, was definitely not rated PG-13). But now, even those thoughts had been pushed out of his mind, and all he could think of was making Mickey pay for what he had done to Kash.

“Where’s Mickey?” Ian blurted out, ignoring her question and friendly demeanor.

Slightly taken aback, Mandy informed Ian that Mickey had gone with a couple of her other brothers to pick up their dad from prison down state. (So that’s what the tacky silver “Welcome Home, Dad” banner hanging on the porch awning above his head was all about. So much for not having to worry about encountering Terry, he mused wryly, though at least this news meant that he could be sure that Terry was definitely not in the house right now.) Why was he asking, she wanted to know.

Instead of answering, he simply barged into the house – if he couldn’t find Mickey, he decided, he might at least be able to get the gun back. “What the hell, Ian?” Mandy exclaimed indignantly as he pushed her aside.

Ian had only been to the Milkovich house a few times, and had never lingered. He had found that Mandy usually preferred to hang out at his house or seemingly anywhere but here.

He realized that he didn’t know which room was Mickey’s, so he randomly picked door #1, swinging it open and surveying the room quickly. Bright blue walls, purple bedspread, scented candles on the dresser – this must be Mandy’s room. He backed out and closed the door behind him, and moved down the hallway to door #2. “What are you _doing_?” Mandy implored, but Ian paid her no mind.

He also paid no mind to the handmade “Stay the Fuck Out” sign duct taped to door #2, opening it without hesitation and quickly surveying the room. Walls decorated with punk rock posters, a collection of swords in a corner, a pile of prepaid phones still in their boxes (most likely stolen) sitting on the dresser – though the room was definitely a dump (pretty much the whole Milkovich house was), at least this one had an attached bathroom, Ian noticed.

“Mickey will kill you!” Mandy yelled, confirming that he had found Mickey’s room.

Ian began ransacking the space, overturning the cushions on a small leather couch that was up against one wall, opening the dresser drawers and rifling roughly through the contents. Mandy continued to scream at him, the volume and urgency of her voice increasing the more of a mess he made. “ _Ian!!_ ” She finally shouted at full volume, causing him to pause briefly and look up at her.

“He hit Kash, ok?” He quickly explained, not feeling he needed to say more since Mandy knew about his relationship with his boss. He turned his attention back to the dresser drawer which he was rummaging through and continued to pull out random shit, but still, no gun.

Mandy let him continue ransacking the room for a couple of moments more, then finally walked over to Ian and grabbed him, pulling him away from the dresser. “Just go,” she said as she started to push him out the door, “I’ll clean this up.”

Ian stopped at the doorway, his anger somewhat displaced by frustration. He turned to face Mandy and summoned up as much righteous indignation as he could muster, “Tell him it ends now. No more messing with Kash.” He leaned in closer to Mandy, pointing his finger for emphasis, “And tell him I want the gun back. Tonight!”

Ian quickly exited Mickey’s room and the Milkovich house, leaving Mandy to deal with the mess that he had made.

\---

As it turned out, Ian was not able to return until the next morning. He had gotten caught up, typically, in some Gallagher family drama – this time, helping to stage a fake funeral for Frank, who was being pursued by a couple of enforcers hired by a shady outfit to which Frank owed six grand. Despite the long night spent “eulogizing” his father at The Alibi, he was up early the next day, as was his habit. He quickly got dressed and made his way over to the Milkovich house, just wanting to get the confrontation over with while he still had enough rage to sustain him.

As he approached the house, he could see that the Milkoviches had also hosted a party the night before. The evidence was everywhere – empty beer cans and bottles strewn all over the front lawn, red streamers hung limply on the fence, an upside-down red plastic cup covering the knob of the front porch railing. Of course, the Milkovich house was usually piled with all sorts of random shit – inside and out, it was like a junkyard, filled with a menagerie of items that were mostly either found or stolen – so the party mess was just an extra layer of clutter.

Realizing the reason for the festivities – that Terry was back – made him hesitate as he approached the front stairs. He was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t quite thought this thing through, that he was about to go into the lion’s den without backup. Surveying the mess around the front of the house, his eye caught on a tire iron that happened to be lying amongst the junk on the porch. Thinking fast, he grabbed it, slapped it into his palm a couple of times, testing its heft, then decided to bring it along as a weapon.

He raised his arm to knock, just as he had done last time, but just as he was about to propel his arm forward, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open wider and cautiously entered the Milkovich house.

The house was eerily quiet, but it was still early, and judging by the festivities that must have gone down last night, Ian assumed that everyone was still asleep. As he stood in the middle of the Milkovich living room, every muscle taut, he held the tire iron out slightly to his side, poised for a swing should he come across any conscious or semi-conscious Milkoviches who might decide to attack an intruder.

A loud snort suddenly rang out into the silence, making Ian jump. Recovering quickly, he looked over to find the source of the sound and found himself gazing upon the prostrate figure of Terry Milkovich, face down on the living room couch, limbs sprawled, wearing only his boxers.   Breathing a small sigh of relief, Ian began slowly walking again, toward the back hallway and the “Stay the Fuck Out” sign.

He opened the door to Mickey’s room slowly, peering inside as he went. To his relief, there was the lone figure of Mickey, laying on his bed in much the same position as his father (face down, limbs sprawled), wearing a dirty wife beater and sweatpants.

Ian entered the room and closed the door behind him; Mickey did not stir. Widening his stance and steeling himself for confrontation, Ian poked Mickey in the back with the tire iron. Mickey woke up with a small start, “the fuck?” He flailed his arms a bit before he was able to get them underneath him well enough to push up and turn his head to see who was responsible for the rude awakening. Squinting, still half asleep and confused, Mickey finally managed a gravelly, “Gallagher?”

“I want the gun back, Mickey!” Ian stated as confidently as he could muster.

Slowly waking up, Mickey languidly moved himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, wiping his eyes tiredly and putting his hand up in supplication, “Ok, ok.”

Ian, instinctively not trusting Mickey, eyed him suspiciously. Sure enough, just as Mickey began to move toward the top drawer of the bedside table (which presumably held the gun), he quickly changed directions and leapt up from the bed and pounced on Ian instead, making a grab for the tire iron.

Despite the fact that Ian had anticipated Mickey’s move – and despite the fact that he was taller and at least 15 pounds heavier than his dark-haired foe – Ian was caught off guard by the ferocity and speed of Mickey’s attack. Before he knew it, he was being lifted up and body slammed horizontally against the wall above Mickey’s bed. Jumping on top of Ian, Mickey grabbed Ian’s arm that was holding the crow bar and slammed it against the wall, causing him to let go; the weapon dropped uselessly to the floor with a clang.  

Ian maneuvered onto his stomach as Mickey wrapped his arms around his neck, putting him in a chokehold. Pushing up with all his might, he stood up and ran backwards so that Mickey, who was still wrapped around his neck, would be slammed into the wall. Mickey let go as soon as he hit the wall and landed on the small couch. Wasting no time, he immediately sprang back up and charged Ian. They grabbed each other’s shoulders; finally in a pure head to head situation, Ian was able to use his size advantage and pushed Mickey as hard as he could away from him, causing Mickey to fall back against the dresser; a beer bottle which had been perched atop the dresser came crashing to the floor.

Taking advantage of the brief window during which Mickey was disoriented from the impact of slamming against the wall, Ian turned around and grabbed the crow bar off the floor. He was still partially crouched down when Mickey reached him again, and they tumbled together onto the bed. Ian twisted until he was face to face with Mickey, who was now on top of him, pinning him down between his knees.

Oh Fuck! Ian suddenly realized with horror that his dick had gotten hard from the friction of wrestling, as well as the position of Mickey, whose ass was basically on top of Ian’s crotch. Mickey would surely feel it, he thought anxiously. The (male) Milkoviches had a reputation for being raging homophobes, and Mickey, from his experience, was no exception. Ian might really be a dead man now. Even more so as his distraction allowed Mickey to finally wrestle the tire iron out of Ian’s hand. Mickey raised the metal weapon above his head, and Ian closed his eyes in anticipation of the blow.

…Which didn’t come. Huh? Ian dared to open one eye and take a peek.

Mickey was still in the same position – pinning Ian between his knees, holding the tire iron above his head ready to strike – but he wasn’t moving; instead, was simply breathing heavily and looking at Ian strangely. Confused, Ian opened both eyes and studied Mickey. What was he waiting for? As he stared up at his attacker, he suddenly became aware of a growing bulge against his stomach – he couldn’t quite believe it, but he could feel the evidence that Mickey Milkovich had also responded to the physicality of their wrestling match. What’s more, he realized to his shock, the look that was etched on Mickey’s face as he looked down at Ian was one of pure lust.

Before Ian could contemplate this surprising turn of events any further, Mickey suddenly sprang into action, letting go of the crow bar – it landed on the floor with a metallic clank – and grabbing his own shirt and pulling it over his head. Ian was only a couple of seconds behind him, moving to start taking off his shirt also; however, since he was still pinned under Mickey, he was not able to get very far.

Now naked from the waist up, Mickey moved off Ian to allow him to get up, and then together, frantically, they worked to remove Ian’s coat and shirt in one fell swoop. Next, they tackled the clothes on their lower halves – Mickey’s sweatpants came off easily, but Ian’s jeans were a little bit more stubborn.

Finally, they were both fully naked, and as they stood facing each other, they both paused for a moment to admire the view. Mickey’s eyes traveled down Ian’s body and lingered on his cock, which was standing up at full attention by now. Taking one large step, Mickey quickly removed the distance between them and greedily reached between Ian’s legs. Ian, still somewhat in shock over what was happening, hardly moved except to lift his arms to give Mickey access.

As Mickey began to stroke his cock, Ian succumbed to the sensation, opening his mouth and inhaling sharply as his head lolled backwards, eyes rolling back into his head. Impatiently, Mickey grabbed one of Ian’s hands, which had been hovering uselessly off to the side, and placed it on his cock, moving it up and down until Ian got the hint and took control. They stood facing each other – but not really looking at each other, except occasionally at each other’s dicks – and jerking each other off for a while, until Ian could feel himself getting close to coming.

He was just about to go over the edge when Mickey suddenly stopped stroking and stepped back, causing Ian to relinquish Mickey’s cock as well. Ian, confused and slightly agitated from being pulled back from the brink, watched as Mickey turned around so that his back was facing Ian, put one knee up on the bed and leaned over.

His eyes slowly coming back into focus, Ian took a few seconds to get his bearings. Oh my God, Ian thought. Is this really happening? Calling back over his shoulder, Mickey pointed to the nightstand next to the bed and barked, “Top drawer. Lube.”

Blinking in disbelief, Ian moved quickly, opening the top drawer and grabbing the bottle found within (he couldn’t help but notice Kash’s gun next to the lube, but that didn’t seem to matter right now). As he slicked himself up, he admired Mickey’s ass, his bent position causing it to jut out appealingly, waiting for him. By the time he finally entered Mickey, he didn’t last long, but as they came together, Ian knew – in the small part of his brain that was still functioning – that he was already beginning to fall for Mickey.

\---

A few minutes later, they sat next to each other on the bed, naked and spent. Neither of them spoke, instead exchanging furtive sideways glances. Each time Ian glanced over at Mickey, he tried to ascertain what might be going on inside the dark-haired teenager’s head, but it was a useless endeavor. Mickey’s face had assumed the same passive, bored expression he usually wore, and it was impossible for Ian to get a read on him.

Abruptly though, his expression did change; suddenly, Mickey’s face betrayed naked terror. Ian was confused for a split second before he heard what it was that had caused Mickey to lose his composure: the sound of lumbering footsteps just outside the door, fast approaching. Ian was just beginning to comprehend the implications of this when Mickey jumped up and pulled Ian with him off the bed. Tearing the covers down frantically, he jumped in, pulled Ian down next to him and adjusted the sheet so that they were both covered from the waist down. Next to Ian, Mickey stiffened his muscles and went completely still.

Someone in the house had awoken, and seemed to be headed straight toward Mickey’s room, for some reason – oh shit, the attached bathroom. What had actually seemed a luxurious privacy at first (an en suite bathroom!) could actually be less private in a crowded house full of family members with boundary issues (Ian could certainly relate to that). Seeing the terror on Mickey’s face reinforced his concern about homophobic Milkoviches, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for what Mickey must have to deal with being gay in his family.

Of course, if he were caught with Mickey, he knew that he would also receive whatever beat down (or worse) Mickey was so afraid of. His instinct was to run, to escape this room and what seemed now like an inevitable beating, but in the moment he really didn’t have much choice but to mimic Mickey, remain completely still and hope to avoid detection by whichever bleary-eyed Milkovich was on his way to Mickey’s room.

A split second later, Terry Milkovich barged in. Neither Ian nor Mickey moved a muscle as Terry lumbered past them, making his way to the bathroom.   They remained motionless as they heard Terry let loose a stream into the toilet (along with a few high-pitched farts).

Having completed his business, he walked back out into the bedroom, crudely scratching his crotch as he stumbled through, still seemingly half-asleep. He didn’t look over at the bed or the boys in it, but he must have noticed their presence in passing, as he remarked, without turning his head, “Mandy’s making eggs.”

Terry was just about to exit the room when suddenly he stopped, paused as though registering something for the first time, and turned around to look directly at Ian and Mickey. Ian could feel the blood draining from his face, and he held his breath –he could sense Mickey next to him doing the same – as he looked directly into the face of Terry Milkovich, whose inscrutable visage was frozen into a permanent scowl.

After what seemed like an eternity, Terry finally spoke. “Put some clothes on, you two look like a couple of fags.” With that, he turned around and left the room.

Only once he was out of sight and his footsteps out of earshot did Ian or Mickey dare to move again; next to Ian, Mickey’s relief was palpable. Fuck, that was a close call. Mickey was the first to recover, leaping out of the bed and starting to get dressed, tossing Ian’s clothes at him as he found them near his own. Ian was amazed that Mickey was able to resume normal operations so quickly, but of course, Mickey must be more accustomed to his father’s volatility.

It didn’t take long before Mickey was fully dressed. Ian was just zipping up his jeans when he saw out of the corner of his eye Mickey toss something onto the bed – the gun. He looked up at Mickey, who was rubbing the side of his mouth as he looked Ian over. Ian recognized the look – it was the same look Ian had seen in Mickey’s eyes when he had been pinned under him on the bed – and so he instinctively stepped toward Mickey for a kiss.

He was just about to lean in when there was a sudden shift in Mickey’s expression, as though he realized that his mask had slipped again and that he was exposed. “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” he said harshly, his expression snapping back to neutral before he quickly exited the room.

Alone finally in Mickey’s bedroom, Ian finished getting dressed while he considered the events of the morning. It was hard to believe – the notorious South Side thug Mickey Milkovich was gay! And he liked taking it in the ass!

Ian honestly had had no idea; he wondered then if Mickey had somehow known about him. Did Mandy say something, maybe? No – Ian trusted Mandy. Did Mandy know about Mickey?? Ian didn’t think so; surely she would have mentioned it to him had she known that her brother was also gay. It made Ian a bit sad to know that Mickey was so deeply closeted that even his closest family member had no idea about that side of himself. Ian remembered what a relief it had been for him to finally be open about it with Lip, and then Mandy.

Of course, even though Ian had still not told the rest of his family – and he was not sure exactly how they would react – he felt secure in the knowledge that at least he would not be in mortal danger if they found out. The same could not be said for Mickey, who inherited his violent streak honestly from his father. Judging by the terrified look on Mickey’s face when Terry had entered his bedroom, Ian understood that for Mickey, remaining in the closet was a matter of survival.

Sighing, Ian finished getting dressed and slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He opened the door just enough to peer out; seeing no one, he opened the door fully and stepped into the hall.

As he was turning around to close the door gently behind him, he was startled to hear his name being called out in a high-pitched whisper from down the hallway. He turned quickly around, on guard for confrontation, but was relieved to find it was only Mandy. Indignant, she began scolding him, “I told you to forget about it!” Suddenly noticing the black eye he had gotten during the initial fight with Mickey, she exclaimed, “Shit! You ok?”

“All good,” he assured her, pulling up his shirt to reveal the gun tucked into his jeans. They exchanged knowing smiles and Ian quickly made his way out of the Milkovich house.

His shift was supposed to start at the Kash & Grab soon, and he needed to return the gun, but Ian took the scenic route that morning. He was walking on clouds as he relived what had happened with Mickey over and over in his mind. It was all he could do to suppress a boner as he walked – he nearly ducked into an alley to rub one out, but he really didn’t want to be late to work, especially since he had skipped out the day before.

When Ian finally made it to the Kash & Grab, he found Kash sitting behind the counter, waiting for him. Kash looked up at him expectantly as he walked in, the jingling of the bells attached to the door announcing him loudly and obnoxiously. Ian realized he hadn’t seen Kash since the day before, when he had left in a huff and headed straight to the Milkovich house. He could see Kash’s surprised and worried expression when he noticed the black eye that Ian was now sporting (matching the one Kash had gotten the day before), though it soon morphed into appreciation and affection. Ian felt a pang of guilt at Kash’s gratitude, even though technically, he _had_ gotten the black eye defending Kash. He didn’t have to know what had happened after that.

Ian couldn’t hold Kash’s gaze, and so he looked at the floor as he reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out the gun, setting it on the counter in front of Kash. After a few moments, Ian dared a peek up at Kash; the older man was looking at him with such intense endearment that Ian could only shrug and smile sheepishly in response.

Suddenly, there was a shift, and the message being conveyed through Kash’s eyes took on a different quality. Ian knew the look, the one that indicated he was DTF – an invitation for sex. Ian’s first instinct was to somehow beg off. Even though Kash was his boyfriend (not that they’d really ever discussed it, or labeled it as such outside of Ian’s mind), and it was Ian that had stepped outside of their relationship with someone else (hard to call it “cheating” exactly when Kash was married), his first thought was that having sex with Kash would somehow be betraying Mickey.

But then he realized how stupid this was. He had no way of knowing if the thing with Mickey would ever be anything more than a one-time deal. Of course, he wouldn’t object to an encore, but Mickey was such a closet-case, who knew if that would ever happen.

Fuck it, he thought – he was still horny as hell from the morning, and he saw no reason to turn down a perfectly good offer for sex. So he gave Kash a smirk and a nod, signaling that he agreed to Kash’s unspoken proposal.

Smiling, Kash moved quickly to lock the front door and to grab the ladder so that he could adjust the surveillance camera – a necessary precaution, since pretty much every square foot of the store was being watched otherwise. Visions of Mickey still in his mind, Ian pounced on Kash practically before he could even get back to the ground – his need for release suddenly an animal that must be satisfied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the collision course our boys have been on since the beginning is coming to fruition! :)


End file.
